Something between You and Me
by Linox
Summary: Quickly, Stiles turned around to whisper in the handsome stranger's ear, "Please act with me on this," before giving the man he had only met less than five minutes ago a peck on the cheek and a flirtatious smile. This was so not the way Stiles had planned his day going. OR the one where Stiles pretends to be dating Derek to get away from his ex.
1. Chapter 1

**Something between You and Me**

Chapter 1

It was supposed to be an ordinary Saturday morning. The sun was up, and the clear sky held hope of a rainless day, in the otherwise rainy city of Bath, England. Children were running around and playing tag, one child even sprinting about with his red and obscurely green looking kite, as Derek walked into the opening of the park, blue scarf twirled around his neck way too many times due to his sister's scoffing of "Don't be a baby, brother dearest, it's just a scarf. You'll freeze to death otherwise!" It was barely November. And around 7 degrees out.

Yeah, Derek was totally getting babied by his big sister.

As he rounded the corner of the end of the park, walked past an old couple pushing some children - probably their grandchildren - on a couple of swings, and crossed the busy morning traffic over to his favorite café, Beta's, he couldn't help but to feel like something was different about this brand new day, like it was just right. When he opened the door to the café a bell chimed, signalizing that there was a new costumer.

The café didn't look any different. The walls were still painted in different nuances of brown, grey and green, and there were still rough tables made of dark wood, chairs and couches with way to many pillows on them. The whole cafe was still lit up by little sparkle lights that hung on the otherwise dark roof like the branches of an Amazon forest, lighting up the whole room.

Behind the counter where people placed their orders there was an image of a wolf pack painted onto the old wooden wall.

There were four wolves in the painting, the owners had insisted on that.

One had very light brown fur with a hint of red, laying on a abandoned forest ground with distant blue, nearly grey eyes focused on the full moon on the sky above him, wondering, searching for something. Only Isaac knew what that something was.

The second wolf had dark brown colored fur and eyes almost alike in color as in fur, and it's head was resting on top of the first wolf's muzzle with a content look. Halfway on top of the second wolf was the fourth, and her fur was the complete opposite as her mate's, almost white with hints of weak yellow and dark orange. Her eyes though, held almost the same color as her mate's; a dark maroon that seemed to brightly shine as she laid half spread on top of him, nose resting in the crook of her mate's neck. Derek had thought it was a beautiful portrait of Boyd and Erica's relationship.

The fourth and last wolf in the painting, not everyone could place. Anyone who really looked could easily recognize the other three wolves as the three owners of the café, Isaac, Boyd and Erica, their bright personalities reflected in the painting. But the last one, the last one was different.

He stood proud as a leader, a protector of the other wolves, almost black fur reflected in the moonlight and bright green eyes shining with a small ring of amber right before the irises, looking over his pack. But the wolf looked lonely, still.

Derek shook his head. He didn't know why the others had insisted that he'd paint himself into their painting as well; after all he wasn't a co-owner of Beta's, simply a friend. "You're one of our closest friends, Derek, of course we want you there up with us!" Isaac had answered one time when Derek had voiced his thought.

"And besides," Erica had chimed later when Derek had painted himself into the picture as their guardian and they were all sitting on the floor cuddled together like the wolves on the picture, and just staring at the finished work, "you insisted on painting this beautiful picture that took months, months Derek, off your time to make, for free. Even though you could have spent all that time working on pieces to sell in order to make money for yourself. It was the least we could do."

Boyd had given a soft sigh in agreement. "And you're family, Derek. Family sticks together," he gestured to the painting, "like a pack." None of the others said anything after that, they just sat in piece, with each other for company and looked around at their new café, and at their lives beginning to make sense again.

Derek spared the painting, _his_ painting, another fond glance before making his way properly into the café, giving a quick smile and a wave to the people he recognized. The weather was gloomy outside, but inside the Beta's it was warm and cozy with just the right amount of people, and soft smells of coffee and freshly baked goods stirring in the air. _Home_, he thought with a small smile.

He stood in queue for the disk, only a few people before him in the line, and started on the huge task that was taking off his ridiculously well twirled scarf that his sister had put on him this morning. Laura had to get kudos on that, she was an incredible wicked scarf twirler.

Derek hadn't even remembered that they were having breakfast together at his apartment that day, opening the door at seven in the morning in only his boxers and a look that said he would kill whomever that had disturbed his beauty sleep. Or at least, that was how Laura had described it, much to Derek's very manly protests. So they cooked and ate together, or well, Derek _tried_ to cook but he burned the toast and may have started a tiny fire in his kitchen, but it was only tiny! (Which was an improvement from the Hale's Christmas 2010, when their mother had forced Derek to help out in the kitchen. Yeah that was a disaster, but they don't like to mention it.) So after Derek's tiny accident, Laura took over, who was the more skilled cook in his family, like his mother and his eldest brother, Michael.

So, Derek wasn't so skilled in the art of cooking to put it lightly, but his hands had quite the touch when it came to painting, drawing and sculpting. His family and friends had called him an art prodigy as a child, after he came home from first grade one day where they were supposed to draw something that made them happy, and his parents saw what he had drawn.

Most of the other children had drawn shaky but simple pictures of butterflies, suns and smiley faces in bright colors, but he had drawn a wolf in such detail and nuances of grey, standing proudly on a cliff, overlooking the ocean like it was searching for something. Or someone.

At first his kindergarten teacher had thought that her coworkers were playing a game on her, putting such an art piece into the hands of a seven year old to prank her, but when she tried to take the art piece away from Derek he had screamed and cried and demanded his drawing back in a way only a child could. She'd called her coworkers over to her, and they were just as surprised as she was when they asked if Derek could draw them another pretty picture, and they got a detailed sketch of a lily back, and a huge smile from kid Derek. So from an early age he and his sketch book were inseparable, and all it took was a piece of paper, a pencil and a small rubber to make Derek happy through his childhood.

Now as an adult Derek had several paintings on exhibitions in museums all over the world, and he had sold enough of his work that he probably didn't need to work again for the rest of his life, but he still wanted to because it was his one passion in his life.

"Derek, helluuuuu. Derek, are you there, mate?"

A voice brought Derek back from his thoughts, and he realized that the queue before him had disappeared, and Isaac stood by the disk, waiting for him with a fond gaze.

He shook his head. "Sorry man, I was a bit out of it." Derek walked over to the disk and gave Isaac a bro fist and a grinning smile. He looked around the half-busy café and at the waitresses working there, looking for two particular known faces. "Where's the newlyweds?" Derek asked.

Erica and Boyd's engagement and later marriage hadn't come as a surprise for anyone. They had been head over heels for each other since they were in High School, almost non-separable for seven years before Boyd took the big step and went down on one knee right in the middle of their café on the day of their anniversary, asking Erica for her hand in marriage.

"It was about time," Erica had teased Boyd, "I was beginning to worry that you'd never ask."

"I would have married you after our first date, babe, but I needed to reassure that I could support you in the way you deserve." There had been a moment between them where they gave each other a fond smile, hugging each other long. Derek had almost felt the need to look away from the personal moment to give them some privacy, and when Boyd and Erica started making out like a couple of wild animals, he did turn away because _come on, get a room!_ But his couldn't help his completely soppy grin as Boyd put a golden ring on Erica's finger that day, feeling happy for his friends.

Isaac gave him a smile and adjusted the apron hanging around his front, with the letter's "KISS THE COOK" painted in bright green colors on the otherwise blue cloth. Derek was very fond of that one. "Oh, they're at the hospital getting an ultrasound. They're hoping that Erica has come long enough on her way that the can see the baby for the first time. Boyd is completely terrified," Isaac finished with a laugh.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Derek laughed. If he was going to have a baby with the fierceful, but loving (though if he mentioned that to Erica she would most likely strangle him in his sleep) Erica he would be terrified too. "Being a father will do that to you, I guess."

Someone made a small "ahem!" behind them, and he could see the people behind him in the line waiting to get their morning dose of caffeine and some breakfast. He hurried along. "Anyway, remind them to send me a picture, yeah?"

"Of course, mate. Now, what can I get you today? The usual?"

Derek shook his head. "Naah, I'm feeling a bit different today, so I'll think I'll take something else. Do you still sell that delicious Peacon pie of yours?"

Isaac nodded and gave him a cheeky grin, "It's the best one in town."

"Yeah, I'll have two slices of that, a croissant and a cup of hot chocolate with cream, please." Isaac scribbled away on his notepad.

"Yeah, yeah that's cool. I'll just bring your food over to your usual spot when it's done."

"Actually," Derek interrupted, "I think I'll eat outside today."

Isaac crooked an eyebrow at that? "Really? You don't usually eat outside, man. You all right?"

Derek gave him a small smile. "Yeah, just feeling like a change today", he repeated. "I've been having an artist block all week, I don't know what it is, but..." He paused. "But I think it'll help to be outside today." He shook his head thoughtfully. "Just this feeling," he told Isaac and shrugged.

"Sure man, coming right up. But let me check the weather reports first, all right? Don't want your drawings to be soaked with rain outside. I think the weather is good enough that you can sit on the benches left to the entrance." Isaac took out his phone from the back pocket of his phone and made a few swaps with his fingers on the touch screen, bringing up the weather reports for the week. He hummed thoughtfully. "There hasn't been reported any rain lately, so I think you're in the clear man. And there sure isn't going to snow any time soon," he huffed out a laugh, putting his phone back into his back pocket.

Derek laughed with him, starting on the huge job that was to twirl his scarf around his neck once again. _Yeah right, like it was going to snow_, Derek thought. _It hadn't snowed in Bath in almost ten years now, why would it start now?_

"The food will be ready in five."

Derek nodded to Isaac and grabbed a thick blanket from one of the chairs on the way out. He had a feeling that he was going to need it.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Stiles was so screwed.

Not the kind of screwed that leaved him glowingly boneless and out of breath with slick release spattered across his stomach or deep inside another man. No, not in that sense at all. Though that way would be much preferable to Stiles at that moment.

The way he was screwed had a much more bitter afterglow.

He was in fact so screwed that he had retorted to drastic measures.

He was running.

(Or well, jogging, really, because it was nine o'clock in the morning, he hadn't even had his morning coffee, and even though he wasn't physically in bad shape by anyone's standards it was still NINE O'CLOCK IN THE FREAKING MORNING and he really did _not_ have the energy to do anything productive at that time of day, least not run away from the crime scene like the big pussy he was.)

"God dammit why did it have to be today," he grumbled breathlessly to himself, making the way through a crowd of people, and away from the couple behind him he knew had seen him flee.

His blue knitted winter hat that he'd gotten from his grandma for his birthday a few years back was starting to slide slowly off his head, a tickling feeling that shuddered down Stiles back, so he hastily took it off and shoved it in the pocket of his grey winter coat with a grunt.

It wasn't like Stiles hadn't expected to see Danny again. Neither of them lived in such a big part of town, and they couldn't avoid each other forever, though Stiles sorely tried.

So it was only expected that they might run into each other one day, and Stiles had daydreamed that when that day came he would have a hot boyfriend by his side to introduce to Danny while they had their awkward x-boyfriend first meeting conversation that was bound to happen. And then Danny would realize what a big dick he was for breaking up with Stiles in the first place and beg to get him back, but Stiles wouldn't take him back because he had a much hotter and much better boyfriend than Danny ever was, and Danny would have to live with that regret for his entire life.

_But_ of course that was only another one of Stiles many daydreams that was never going to happen with his luck in life. So when Stiles saw Danny in front of his favorite news stand for the first time since their break-up, holding hands with a man that seemed to be his boyfriend if the way they were flirting with each other was anything to go by, Stiles freaked and ran. But Danny saw him.

So that was why he was slightly jogging (don't judge the man, he still hadn't gotten that coffee yet) straight through a choir that was singing Christmas carols, wincing and shouting behind him "Sorry!" as one nun started falling on top of the other like some weird domino pieces. If he hadn't been running (slightly jogging) he would probably have found the entire picture hilarious, a dozen of nuns laying on top of each other in the middle of the street, their hymn books scattered around them. Ok, scratch that, he still found it hilarious even if he was on the run.

Stiles looked over his shoulder and could spot Danny and his boyfriend helping the scattered nuns to stand.

Stiles rolled his eyes. _Of course_Danny would help the poor nuns.

He stopped as the crowd parted and took a look around him for an emergency exit. Stiles was in an open market square with stone tiles and a big grey fountain in the center, shops of every kind placed around the edges of the market square creating a cozy look. There were always shops he could hide in, but chances were that Danny would walk in with the luck Stiles had been having that day, so he decided against it. Then there was only one option left.

Stiles had to find a boyfriend.

And that fast.

There were a few people sitting on benches placed around the open area, but most of them were either really old and together with their grandchildren, or couples sitting together and looking disgustingly in love. Stiles sighed. None of them would do for him, so he kept looking. Lots of cafés were open but almost no one was sitting outside, and why would they? The weather was freaking freezing. He couldn't really walk into a café and find someone either, no, it had to be public, on display. He turned around and was about to find the nearest shovel so that he could dig his own grave to hide from the humiliation, when he saw him.

Stiles' head felt like it had just experienced a whiplash as he stared at the beautiful man sitting outside in the cold with outdoor clothes and a blanket thrown over his legs, a scarf twirled around his neck way too many times. In his lap he had a huge book with clear paper - probably a sketch book, Stiles guessed - and some pencils lying on the table in front of him.

_Perfect_, Stiles thought. _He's absolutely perfect._

Stiles ran over to the man sitting by the entrance of a café named Beta's, and stood there awkwardly until the man noticed him, Stiles' cheeks flushing from the running and at the complete absurdity of the situation.

The man looked Stiles over once before finding his eyes and asking in a polite tone, "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, you can. Are you single?" Stiles hurried by saying, staring at the stranger.

The man put down his sketchbook at the bench he was sitting on and raised his eyebrows at Stiles. "Excuse me?"

"I said are you single? Yes no?"

The man was clearly surprised over such an abrupt question from a complete stranger, but he gathered himself enough to say, "Yes I am."

Stiles exhaled slowly in relief. "Are you gay?"

The man stood up now, staring annoyed at Stiles.

"Did Isaac put you up to this?" The man sighed and touched his jaw, forehead scorching. "I've told him countless of times, if I want to get laid, I'll get laid myself, I don't need his fucking help."

Stiles gave the handsome man another once-over and grinned. "Yeah, I don't doubt that at all, handsome. I just need to know if you're gay."

Handsome (which was what Stiles was calling the stranger in his mind, because _hot damn_) gave Stiles another stare. "Yes," he said begrudgingly and with a frown that did so not fit well with the rest of the man's outrageously hot body.

"Oh thank god." Stiles smiled, relieved, and stepped forward so that he was just inches apart from the man. His eyes trailed down to the stranger's lips, gaze fixated. "I'm going to kiss you now, Handsome, and I would prefer it if you didn't hit my pretty face for doing so."

Any protests the man had was muffled by Stiles' lips on his.

Around them it started snowing for the first time in 10 years.

**TBC**

* * *

This story can also be found on my livejournal, or on my AO3 account (links on my profile because ff won't allow us to post links in textposts).


	2. Chapter 2

**Something between You and Me**

Chapter 2

Chapter summary:  
Handsome gave a small cough beside him and then he remembered that oh, this was in fact his bastard ex he was talking to, and Stiles had just basically kidnapped a man without his consent to come play his pretend boyfriend in front of his ex-boyfriend. When had this become Stiles life, really?

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone! First of all, I just have to send out an enormous amount of love to all of you who has comment/given kudos or just read this story so far! I was completely blown away with all the kind responses I've been getting for this story, both here on ff and on my AO3 account! You are all so very amazing and I treasure all of the response dearly!

NOW, onto this chapter. I am sorry, but I had to make Danny seem a little like a douche, but on the good side: protective!Derek and a whole amount of sterek, fuck yeah! I threw a lot of fluff and just common ridiculousness in there just to make it seem more like the absurd situation it is. Hope you like! All mistakes are my own, and if you see any grammar mistakes or something like that just let me know and I'll change it ASAP :) Enjoy!

* * *

Stiles could feel something small and wet flicker on his face over and over again, and he made a move to swat it away with his hands, but when he tried to move the two limbs that were his arms, he found them occupied. One, he found, was fisting in Mr. Ridiculously Handsome's hair, and the other one on the back of his waist, trailing closer to where Handsome's jacket ended, where he came in contact with a patch of soft skin leading down to the man's holy grail of a butt _and holy fuck _Stiles wanted to touch that. Like right now. Stiles wanted to do so many filthy things with that backside that it could fill out an entire book longer than the Lord of the Rings books (the Hobbit included). Oh god, Stiles _really_ needed to get laid.

He moaned around the lips that were kissing him open, kissing like he was some sort of aphrodisiac that Handsome could never get enough of. And yes, right there and then it sounded like a pretty good plan to stay wrapped around this man for as long he had breath left in his body (which might be a while cuz' he was a Stilinski and darn those genes were good).

He heard a cough from in front of them, but he ignored it for the feeling of the ridiculously hot man's lips touching, and licking his way slowly into Stiles' mouth.

A had came up to cup the back of Stiles' head, and Stiles thought he was going to be pushed away for a second, but after a moment of hesitation the hand scratched the nape of his neck in a way that made shudders run through Stiles' body. He let out a small moan, his hand in Handsome's hair moving to go around his neck so that he could push them closer together, their crotches lining up and creating a friction that made Stiles whimper desperately for more. Holy shit what was happening to him? He was basically fucking in the middle of a market square with a dude he literally _just met_.

The stranger nipped playfully on Stiles' bottom lip, and Stiles nipped back harder, teasingly almost, all thoughts against public indecency going straight out the window. Public _what_-_again_? Nope, nothing like that happening here. Just a man kissing another man. Two bros kissing each other senseless in an open place filled with witnesses in the form of old people and children that were probably scarred for life by now. Yeah, nothing at all happening here.

Stiles could feel himself get week in the knees from all the kissing, and wow, _that_ was a sentence he'd never thought he'd ever think. Ever. When did he turn into a complete girl again? And while someone answered that, could they also please go ahead and tell him what was his name was? He'd seem to have lost it in between getting thoroughly mouth fucked by the delicious stranger's lips in public.

They stood that way, hands close around each other's bodies, kissing and licking until both of them had to stop and come up for air, and even then they held on tightly together, panting, like it would physically hurt them to let go.

Stiles head was resting on the stranger's shoulder, his breath uneven after having what might have been his most heated kiss ever. He was pretty sure he was close to fainting with pleasure at least one time during their make out session, and just _holy fuck_ who even kissed that way anymore?! He was still getting small drops of wetness on his neck and face as he detached his arms from around the man, and was about to reach up and get another dose of that magic mouth, but a loud visible cough was voiced from in front of them.

He sighed, fully prepared to talk down to whoever it was calling on them for too much NC-17 like public display. "Look, it's not our fault that we-" he started, aggravated, and stopped in his tracks when he saw who it was standing in front of them. "Whoah, Danny. Uhm... hi." Stiles greated awkwardly, with his hands still around the stranger's waist.

Quickly, Stiles turned around to whisper in the handsome stranger's ear, "Please act with me on this," before giving the man he had only met under five minutes ago a peck on the cheek and a flirtatious smile. This was so not the way Stiles had planned his day going.

"Stiles." Danny gave him a small smile. "It's good to see you again."

Stiles made an involuntary grimace at Danny's voice, but tried to cover it up with his best fake-smile. "Danny, hi. Wow, I didn't see you there."

"I thought it was you I saw walking down the street up by the park. You seemed like you were in a hurry?"

Stiles visibly winced.

"Yeah, I was that you I saw? Weird, huh? I couldn't tell for sure..." Smooth, Stiles, real smooth. "I was just in a hurry because Hand-" Stiles was about to say Handsome's mom called him, but then he remembered that he didn't know the name of the man he had just practically had on-clothed sex with in the middle of a market square. Yeah, good times.

"Because his," he inclined his head in Handsome's direction next to him, "mother called me to remind us that her birthday party was going to be tonight, and I didn't have a pen with me to write down the details." Stiles was looking straight at Handsome now and battered his eyelashes innocently. "Right, sweetheart?" Handsome's mouth opened slightly in shock at the nickname, and looked like he was seriously considering to just run away from this entire mess, but then he clicked his jaw shut and nodded sourly. Stiles smiled triumphantly. "So that was you huh? Small world."

"Yes, that was me." Danny gave Stiles a once over and their eyes met. "You look great… um, I mean, you look good."

Stiles just kept staring at the man who had caused him so much pain a couple of months back.

"Thanks…I guess. How you've been, Danny?"

"Great, actually. I got that apprentice ship I applied for at Hemsworth's law firm, so I'm starting there after the holidays." Stiles had to really smile at that. Danny had been going crazy worrying about his interview at Hemsworth law firm ever since he found out there was a position open as an apprentice, back when they were together. But that was months ago now, and Stiles was found himself to actually be happy for him. He knew how much that opportunity meant to Danny and his family. He'd always wanted to be the first one in his family to study law.

"I'm happy for you, man. I know how much that job meant to you."

Danny gave a small shrug, but was still smiling slightly back at Stiles.

Handsome gave a small cough beside him and then he remembered that _oh_, this was in fact his bastard ex he was talking to, and Stiles had just basically kidnapped a man without his consent to come play his pretend boyfriend in front of his ex-boyfriend. When had this become Stiles life, really?

The stranger gave out another cough, and Stiles turned to look at the man, standing awkwardly beside Stiles, looking like he was about to punch Stiles in the face. Well, that would be unpleasant.

Danny seemed to notice Handsome as well, and gave him a once-over, looking back and forth between the stranger and Stiles. "And who is this?" He asked with narrowed eyes, like he couldn't believe that someone like Stiles could be in the same company as Mr. Handsome next to him.

"Oh, yes, I completely forgot," Stiles exclaimed, shaking his head like he didn't have any control over the situation that had gotten so way out of hand (which he didn't, so there wasn't much acting to do on his part). He tightened his grip on Handsome's waist and introduced his fake-boyfriend (that wasn't even aware of the tiny, tiny detail that he was in fact Stiles fake boyfriend up until this point) to his ex.  
"Honey, this is Danny, my ex-boyfriend that dumped me in the middle of my best friends engagement party," Stiles said, taking a moment to give Danny the proper amount of the Stilinski stink eye gaze in a way that eventually made Danny flinch. What could he say, the skill was hereditary.

"Danny, this is my boyfriend," he introduced, waving a hand from Danny to Mr. Handsome next to him.

Stiles could basically feel the moment Handsome managed to gather all of the information and understood that yes, it was him this crazy person named Stiles was talking about, and yes, it was too late to escape by now. Handsome's body stiffened from where Stiles had his hand around the back of his waist, but Stiles hand just moved over Handsome's right butt cheek and squeezed hard in warning, making Handsome jump, yes actually _jump_, for a second, before sending Stiles a cold hard gaze that Stiles would swear could cut through glass.

Danny gave the stranger another skeptical gaze, unaware of the fact that Stiles' warning grip on the strangers ridiculously sexy butt was everything that held him there, and reached out his hand in Handsome's direction. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name there." Danny looked at Handsome impatiently as Handsome turned around for a second and gave Stiles a mischievous gaze that seemed to scream _Oh, it's __**on**_.

Shit.

Handsome stretched out his hand to shake Danny's and gave him the first smile Stiles had ever seen on his face. "Derek," Handsome supplied with a rough voice, and let go of Danny's hand. And JACKPOT, we have a name to the ridiculously handsome face, _hello-o_ Derek.

Danny scrunched his nose, and retreated his hand before putting them back in his jacket pockets. He looked skeptically at Derek, so Stiles shifted awkwardly against Handsome, _no Derek_, he reminded himself, and was afraid that his cover was busted until he felt Derek's hand sneak around his waist and drag Stiles closer to him.

Something wet flicked annoyingly against Stiles' face again. "What the—" Stiles started, but gaped, mouth open as he actually took in what is happening around him, and why he could hear the sound of the children in the market place running around and practically screaming with joy.

It was snowing. It was December, and it was snowing. In Bath. Where it never had almost never snowed for as long as Stiles had lived there (which was all his life, basically).

"Wow," Stiles mouthed, taking in the tiny flakes of snow drifting slowly downwards from the cloud free sky. "Wow," he repeated in awe, and felt Derek nod against his neck, sending shivers down Stiles' back.

"It hasn't snowed here in a very long time," Derek said, speaking against Stiles' neck as Stiles looked around at his surroundings, and at the children that were running around trying to catch snowflakes with their mouths, or scraping up the little snow that had gathered on the ground to form it into a snowball that they throw on their friends or parents with childlike glee.

Stiles turned around to smile radiantly at Derek. "Not for about 10 years, take or give a year." Derek smiled back at Stiles and removed a snowflake from Stiles' brow, moving his head closer to Stiles as if wanting to do something to him, like smash him into the nearest flat surface that wasn't in public (though Stiles wouldn't be _completely_ opposed to semi-public sex in the future. Hey, what could he say, Derek had made him _very_ desperate.) and fuck Stiles senseless several times in a row. As in multiple times. As in every dirty sex dream Stiles had ever had. Oh _yes please_.

But Derek didn't. Fuck him into the nearest surface, that is. Instead Derek (wow it was weird calling him by his real name) tilted Stiles' jaw up a bit so that Derek's mouth was in line with Stiles', and kissed him softly, almost chaste, while the snow continued to fall around them. A kiss in the snow. This was the answer to the girly side of Stiles' every dream. (Not that he'd admit that to anyone in within the first 1 billion years, of course. Not even Scott who held the bro card got access to those thoughts. )

When they surfaced in need of air, after having kissed, bitten and licked their way into each other's mouths, Danny was taking pictures of the snowy weather with his phone, and that gave Stiles an idea, so he detached one of his arms from Derek's warm body, and took his phone out from his back pocket. Derek didn't get any heads up, Stiles just held the phone out in the air, smiled and said "Say cheese!" and then the blitz blinded the both of them. Stiles didn't look at the picture, he'd take a look at it later as a proof that he hadn't been dreaming this entire ridiculous situation.

Derek just stared at him. Not in a bad way per se, but still in a way that made Stiles want to shield himself from Derek's gaze because it brought butterflies to his stomach. And if he wasn't enough of a girl before _that_ thought certainly drew the straw. Jesus, Stiles, get yourself together. This isn't some kind of frigging cheesy romance story where the boy gets the girl (or in his case, where the man named Stiles get the ridiculously handsome man named Derek).That just doesn't happen. He's only helping you against his own will because you forced him to. After this you'll never see him again…right?

There were a couple of muffed voices near him, and when Stiles shook himself out of his inner monologue trance, he saw Derek and Danny talking to each other a couple of meters away. Oh shit.

He ran towards them (as fast as he could because it was _still_ around nine o'clock in the morning and he _still_ hadn't had his morning coffee, dammit), and managed to slip on the little layer of snow that now covered the slick marble stones in the market square, and fall straight into the arms of Derek. Double shit.

He looked up at Derek who was looking almost amused down at where Stiles was supported by Derek's arms. "Umm, hi, hun." His eyes flicked from Derek to Danny, and when he noticed that Danny was watching them both, Stiles straightened up and tilted his head just so that he could give Derek a quick kiss on the lips. Then he blushed like the complete girl he was. "Sorry, you know me, clumsy is my middle name."

Danny huffed a laughter. "Well, before you came sliding in, I was about to ask your _boyfriend_ what it is he does for a living." Stiles sniffed once, a involuntarily response to the tickling feeling of a snowflake landing on the tip of his nose.

Derek didn't look startled at the question, nor at the harsh voice it was said in. He just moved his hand from around Stiles' back where he'd been supporting Stiles earlier, so that it was tucked around Stiles' waist almost protectively.

_Well, _this _was going better than expected_, Stiles mused joyfully.

"Oh, I'm an artist," Derek said, and that was it. No explanations of what he arted, if he made a fair enough amount of money out of it, when he'd started with it. Just one simple sentence. Four words.

Stiles was beginning to understand that Derek was quite a hard riddle to understand, but Stiles had decided that he was going to try anyway. After all, he was nothing less than a Stilinski, and Stilinski's did what Stilinski's needed to do.

Danny had the nerve to look surprised at the answer, if how his eyebrows got raised was any indication. "An artist, huh? Stiles here has managed to catch himself an artist of all things." His mouth curved downwards almost to say "not bad".

_Oh fuck you seven ways from Sunday_, Stiles thought, and was about one second away from royally kicking Danny up the arse. That right there was why they never would have worked out in the long run, Danny never had enough faith in Stiles that he could achieve what he wanted to. That, and Danny was horrible at giving head. Take your pick.

"Do I know of any of your work, Derek?"

Derek shrugged, and started moving his fingers gently against Stiles' waist where they had slipped under his jacket and hell-o-o skin to skin, yes _please_. "You might…That depends entirely on if you've been to an exhibition that took place in _Musee du Louvre_ in Paris, and later in the _Metropolitan Museum of Art_ in New York, a few years back where they had a rare collaboration of the 21'st century's most talented artists' paintings where they got to be exhibited next to the world's most famous works. Or perhaps you've visited my gallery, either the one here in Bath, or near my vacation home in Paris." Derek shrugged again, and his cold fingers tracing Stiles' skin sent shivers down Stiles' spine. "If you've been to any of those you might have seen some my work."

Stiles might be gaping. And he might have also gasped in an entirely non-macho manner, but he was too busy staring at the man tracing nothings onto his skin with his fingers, the same man who had just said he had paintings in some of the most prestigious art museums in the entire world. _Seriously, who on earth was this man?!_

Danny took a step back, and Stiles could see him think thoroughly over what Derek had just told him. Then Danny's eyes widened, and he too was gaping at Derek. Hah! Stiles wasn't the only one.

"You're name is Derek." Way to state the obvious, Danny-boy.

"It is."

"But... b-but you can't be."

"Why not?"

"The last time someone saw _him_ was-was over 14 years ago. _No_, this can't be." Danny was shaking his head. "I must have you confused with someone else."

Derek was only smiling at Danny, but not the kind of smile he'd given Stiles earlier, this one was almost…smug.

"Ask me my last name, Danny, and I'll tell you."

Wait, what? What was going on here?

"What is your last name, Derek?" asked, not Danny, but Stiles.

"Hale." Stiles could see Derek watching him carefully as he spoke. "My name is Derek Jonathan Bacrowitz Hale. But I have the feeling that you might know me better under my shortened name, Derek Hale."

What? "Back up a bit, like, a football field of length, kind of bit." Stiles bit his lip to keep himself from flailing a hundred percent (he was always good on his way to flailing seventy, perhaps seventy four percent). "You're Derek Hale, _the_ Derek Hale? As in the child prodigy artist that could draw a fucking replica of Vincent van Gogh if he wanted to when he was just a little child?"

Now that Stiles pointed it out Derek looked almost embarrassed of the fact, but gave a small nod in recognition.

Stiles was gaping again. Yup, that seemed to be a thing with him now.

Danny looked between the both of them. "Stiles, you didn't know? How could you not know your boyfriend is practically the Claude Monet of the 21 first century?"

Derek could apparently see that Stiles was too busy taking inn all the information, so he promptly answered, "I _was_ going to wait to tell him until my painting for him was ready, but you kind of just went ahead and ruined that, didn't you?"

For once Danny actually had the decency to look sorry for something he'd done wrong.

"Umm.." Danny began, but Derek had turned his back on him and was now facing Stiles fully. He touched Stiles shoulder briefly, before snapping his fingers in front of Stiles' face.

"Stiles? You ok in there?" Derek's brows narrowed in concern.

Stiles continued to stare at Derek.

"Your painting was placed next to Da Vinci's for three months!" Stiles blurted out. "Like, your _actual_ _work_ was hanging on the same wall as Leonardo da Vinci's _Mona Lisa_."

"Well, not the _exact_ same wall…"

Stiles punched Derek on his shoulder. "You know what I mean you doufus."

"Yeah, I do. And yes, it does." The man who was standing in front of him, Derek Hale, a man who's paintings were worth millions and millions of pounds, the same man he'd forced to pretend to play his boyfriend.

_Oh god_, Stiles had forced a millionaire to be his pretend boyfriend. He was going to die. This man in front of him probably had dogs in his possession. Huge, drooling dogs that most likely could cut through little Stiles like he was a chewing stick. Or even worse, _rape dogs_. Scott had told him about rape dogs a while back, said that apparently it is rumored that the royal family has some at their disposal.

"Of course the royal family doesn't have rape dogs, Scott!" Stiles had started. "They have the bloody Tower of London where they can stow people that are against the monarchy. _That_, and they have ninjas dressed out as body guards. I'm disappointed in you, Scott, I thought you knew this."

Scott had been outraged. "So they can have ninjas, but _not_ rape dogs? What the hell kind of a monarchy is it we're living in today?! That's it, I'm out." And then he'd promptly walked out of Stiles' apartment, slamming the door on his way out. _Dramatic, dramatic_, Stiles had mused. The next day he'd found a plushie of an angry looking dog with a sign around his neck that said "Rape dog", and another one of a ninja wearing black clothes on his doormat. Stiles had taken that as a sign that he was forgiven. It was probably Allison's doing. That loving woman kept Scott in check when Scott was acting like a complete child.

Derek, the millionaire art genius, Derek, gave Stiles a small wink before crowding closer to Stiles, grabbing onto Stiles hands that had gone cold from standing outside in the cold for so long. "I'm so sorry for not telling you, will you forgive me, sweetheart?" And wait a minute. _Sweetheart_? Since when did Derek call Stiles his sweetheart (looking away from the fact that Stiles has only known this man for the better part of half an hour)? But then he remembered the little wink Derek had given him, that Danny was standing only a couple of meters away from them, and that Derek was his pretend boyfriend and _oh_! He wanted them to put on a show! Then a show he would get. (Stiles played a tree in the background of a school play of Hamlet, he knows this shit.)

Stiles swatted away Derek's surprisingly warm fingers from where they were closed around his own, and took a step back. "You lied to me," he said weakly. "We've been together for weeks and not once did you think to mention to me that you're a fucking millionaire?!"

Derek winced, but there was a small glint in his eyes, visible only to Stiles, that told him he was onboard with it. Oh this was going to be so good.

"Wait," Stiles paused. "That's why you always had small scraps of painting on your clothes and face whenever I saw you on weekdays? And the room you keep locked at your apartment and told me I couldn't enter? That's where you paint?"

Derek nodded hopelessly.

"How could you not tell me this?" Stiles wheezed, one hand going through his hair in a desperate manner. "Didn't-didn't you trust me, was that it? Were you afraid I was going to leak our story to the press or-or." Stiles took a look at Derek, and the devastating look on his perfectly sculpted face told Stiles everything he needed to know. He gasped. "You did, didn't you! You thought I was going to betray you like that?" Stiles actually felt tears threatening to form in his eyes. Wow, his acting was top notch today.

"No!" Derek cried out. "No, I would never have thought you could have done something like that to me. But at first I was unsure. People…some people in my past have used who I am against me before, and I just-I didn't want us to be like that. I just had to make sure." And wow, if making art didn't work out for Derek in the future he sure could take up work in the film industry because holy hell that man was good.

"So you decided to test me, then. You didn't trust me enough to even be honest with me in the weeks we were together?" And now Stiles was officially crying, well this was just great. "That was just nothing to you, just a test to see if you could trust me?" Stiles shook his head and took another step back on the snow covered market ground. In the corner of his eye he could see Danny watching them intensely. He probably thought that they were going to break up because of what he said. Yeah, In your dreams, Danny-boy.

He was about to be protested against from Derek, but Stiles cut of whatever he was about to say with a shaky laugh. "Well, how did I do, Derek? Did I make the cut or is someone else holding the highscore?" Stiles sighed, and took another step back. "I can't take this right now, I can't take _you_ right now," said Stiles, but gave Derek what he hoped was a discreet wink so that he knew not to give up on him and come after him.

"We'll talk later," Stiles began when Derek touched his arm. "I just need some time to think. Alone." Then he turned and sent Danny a stern gaze. "Goodbye Danny, I hope we won't be seeing each other for a long, long while. Be good." And then he walked away, praying that Derek would follow.

One second.

Nothing.

Two seconds.

Still nothing but the sound of children running around and screaming with joy, and the sound of fresh snow under Stiles' boots.

Three seconds.

Nothing.

Four seconds.

It seemed like Derek wasn't going to come after him after all.

Five seconds.

Darn it, for a moment Stiles thought he could act out the ending of a cheesy gay romance novel, but no luck.

Six seconds.

And now Danny probably thought they broke up because of him. Just great.

Seven seconds.

There was a noise behind him, like someone was running behind him. But he wrote it off for mistaking it for the sound of the children around him, so he ignored it and kept on walking a bit faster than before.

Eight seconds.

"Stiles! Stiles! God dammit, slow the fuck down you idiot!" Someone was shouting. At him. He stopped in his tracks.

Nine seconds.

Derek reached for him.

Ten seconds.

Stiles reached back.

"There are children around. It's rude to swear in front of children, Derek," Stiles retorted, but his mouth was curved upwards into a smile.

Derek took a much needed shaky breath and moved so that his face was next to Stiles, and suddenly Stiles' had a handful of Derek warmth extraordinaire tucking Stiles close to his chest . "I wouldn't have to swear in front of children if you hadn't gotten me into this bloody mess in the first place, you idiot. But I'll do as you wish, this time at least," Derek whispered warmly into Stiles' ear.

Stiles returned the hug and cuffed Derek on his shoulder. "That's for the swearing. What would the children think, really Derek?" Stiles joked. Derek laughed.

"What do you say, fake boyfriend, ready to get back together again?" Derek mused, and cupped Stiles' cheek gently.

"Yupp," Stiles whispered against Derek's skin. "Make it a good one, will you? I need that bastard to see what he's missing out on."

Derek huffed a laugh against Stiles' jaw, and then moved his head back so that his lips were lined up with Stiles'. Stiles' eyes trailed down from Derek's eyes to his deliciously wet pink lips. Derek gave Stiles a sly grin as he just barely moved close enough so that his lips could touch Stiles', before he took a step back and spoke louder than before. "I'm so, so sorry. The problem was never that I didn't trust you. I would trust you with my life if had I the chance to. I just wanted to make sure that you felt the same about me before I told you." Derek held onto Stiles' left hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "And-and I was going to tell you. Tonight actually, after my mother's birthday party." Derek winked at him and Stiles was close to laughing. He remembered! Stiles had the best fake-boyfriend in the world. "I had a painting I'd been working on that I was going to give to you, and then I was going to tell you about me. And I was also going to tell you that I'm completely smitten by you." Stiles looked up in shock. "And that I think I am falling for you."

"Really?"

"Really."

Stiles grinned. This was officially the best fake non-break up he had ever had.

"I think I am too," he said weekly, already beginning to feel the small butterflies in his stomach - that he found always coming whenever Derek Hale was near -blossoming up.

"You think you're what? I couldn't hear you there." Derek teased.

"I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU OKAY." For a moment all the noise of children's joyful cries, cars honking and people talking stopped, and Stiles realized that perhaps he had said that a tad louder than he expected. "Do you want it written down or something, man, jeez," Stiles complained, but he was smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

"Nah, I'll make do with having you there to tell me every day," was all Derek said (and who the fuck says stuff like that?! Did he want Stiles to have a heart attack, or what?), and then there were lips on his own. Very, _very_ cold lips, but lips nevertheless. _Sweet mother Jesus have mercy_ Derek's lips on his felt _good_. More than good. Like, mind-blowingly good. Stiles moaned at the feeling, and drew Derek as close to him as he could get without them doing the horizontal tango (minus clothing).

Derek was scratching at the base of his neck again, and that turned stiles into a pile of goo at Derek's feet. Derek only smiled when Stiles gave small whimpers against his lips, so Stiles thought hell no, not again, and took control. He trailed one of his hands between their bodies and down to Derek's crotch, pressing a teasing hand down on the zipper of Derek's jeans which resulted in Derek moaning into Stiles' jaw helplessly. "You think he's seen enough?" Derek panted against Stiles' skin, loking up to glance at where Danny stood by the café, watching them.

The harsh smash of Stiles' lips against Derek's could only be taken as a loud and visible no. "_Fuck_, Stiles. Fucking hell, I want to touch you so badly," Derek cursed against Stiles' jaw, and it seemed too genuinely spoken to be anything but the truth.

"Is that my fake-boyfriend, or Derek Hale talking?" Stiles whispered huskily into Derek's ear, licking a stripe alongside his jaw and tasting the little sweat that had gathered there.

"Both," Derek groaned as Stiles' hand pressed hard over his crotch through the denim fabric. "Definitely both."

"Good," Stiles proclaimed, then he removed his hands from Derek's body and distanced himself from the sex-god in front of him. For the first time, he actually got to take a good at the mysterious Derek Hale. He stood panting with snow caught in his black hair, on the eyelids of his green eyes, on his jaw that had a few days' worth of stubble covering it, on his nose that should not allowed to be that perfectly sculpted (because _puh_-lease, everyone's nose looks weird, noses aren't meant to look anything but weird and pointy), on his pink, almost red like lips that seemed like they'd been thoroughly mouth-fucked. And yes, Stiles was quite happy about that fact, and would have guessed that he looked just about as fucked as Derek (not literally speaking, unfortunately).

Even his bloody neck, with that motherfucking Adams apple and skin that Stiles just wanted to get this mouth around and _bite_, had snowflakes on it that landed on his skin and then melted into small drops of water that ran down his skin. Fuck.

"What are you doing?" said Derek in frustration, either from getting cock blocked or from Stiles staring at him.

"Shhhhh, I'm admiring the view."

Derek's laugh right there and then shouldn't have made Stiles' as happy as it did.

Handsome was wearing a thick grey winter coat that stopped just so that Stiles could see some of his deliciously magical ass when he walked (Stiles wanted to see if he could manage to bounce a nickel off that thing because it sure looked like it could). And his legs, holy hell, his long, dark blue denim covered legs. Stiles was pretty sure if he could actually manage to write poetry that wasn't completely crap, he would write them about this man's legs.

He let out a shaky breath, and noticed first now how it was actual minus degrees outside, so he stuffed his hand into his pocket and dragged out the knitted winter hat he'd gotten from his grandmother, putting it over his head.

Two hands were closing around on Stiles' hands, and Derek was standing there rubbing his own hands against Stiles' to bring some warmth into Stiles' hands.

Derek tucked his arm around Stiles' waist, and Stiles noticed that Danny was nowhere to be seen after their little make out session. Good. Serves that bastard right to see what he's missing out on. "It's getting cold, we should be heading back to the café," Derek said.

So they did.

**TBC**

* * *

This story can also be found on my livejournal, or on my AO3 account (links on my profile because ff won't allow us to post links in textposts).


	3. Chapter 3

**Something between You and Me**

Chapter 3

Chapter summary:

"So you have no idea who he is then?"

"Just that his name is Stiles."

"Stiles, huh?" Isaac smirked. "It _would_ be just like you to choose the cuties with the strange names. Oh well, at least he had a nice arse."

Derek looked in the direction that Stiles had disappeared off to. He couldn't say that he disagreed.

* * *

Derek wasn't quite sure how it had come to this.

One moment he was sitting in peace outside in the cold weather and sketching in his book, and in the next he was making out with a very attractive man in the snow while pretending to be his boyfriend. Honestly, he had no idea.

He even had an almost fake breakup with his fake boyfriend, which he could say was a first.

It had all resulted in Derek walking back to the Beta café in the slowly falling snow with his arm around the strange man's (with the even stranger name) waist. The small warmth next to his body as they were walking, and the unfamiliar hand holding his own soothed Derek for some unknown reason. It made him not think so much about what had happened, how he'd let his guard down and told Stiles about his one fear, even though the man might just have thought it was a part of his (very bad) acting.

"So you're really _the_ Derek Hale, huh?" Stiles said baffled when they reached Derek's table outside of the café.

"I wouldn't say I'm _the_ Derek Hale, but my name is Derek Hale, yes." Derek smirked at Stiles.

"Ey!" Stiles nudged Derek's shoulder playfully. "You know what I mean you jerk."

"Sorry," Derek apologized, but he was still smiling.

Stiles stared at Derek.

Derek stared at Stiles.

They lapsed into a slightly awkward moment where they both stood there and had no idea what to say. Derek took the moment to look around. His drink and food had been cleared from the table, which was weird. He suspected someone from the café had cleared it away when they saw no-one was sitting there anymore. He couldn't see his bag or other belongings either, just the blanket lying messily over the outdoor bench from where Derek had taken it off.

He had a slight tremor of fear that someone might have taken his belongings. Especially he was worried about his sketch book, which had his private drawings that could sell for a fair amount of money simply because they were his work and had his signature on them. His eyes scanned the area, and stopped when they saw Isaac watching them from the window of the café with Derek's bag thrown over his shoulder. Derek let out a relieved breath.

"Do you want to have a dr –" Derek started, turning back to Stiles, but was cut off by Stiles starting to speak at the same time as him.

"I don't think we –" Stiles stopped and let out an awkward laugh. "Wow, this is more awkward than I thought."

Derek smiled at him. "You go first."

Stiles scratched the back of his head. "I was just going to say that we haven't been properly introduced yet, you know, despite us being boyfriends and all."

Derek let out a small laugh, and could see Stiles watching him intently. He stretched out his hand. "I'm Derek Hale, nice to make your acquaintance."

Stiles stared at his hand for a second before taking it. The man's cold grip sent a shiver down Derek's spine. "That was a very posh introduction." Stiles smirked.

"I have to live up to my reputation somehow."

"Hah, yeah." Stiles let out a laugh that sounded almost giddy. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hale. I'm Stiles St –"

A phone rang and startled them both. Stiles searched around in the front pockets of his jacket and took out his phone, answering with a grumpy "Hello", clearly unhappy about being interrupted. This made Derek smile.

Stiles listened intently for a moment, then he scrambled for the watch on his hand with a horrifying look on his face. "What? Oh shit, I mean yes honey. It will be all right ok. I'll be there right away, sweetie," and then he ended the call without a goodbye.

Derek took in the stricken expression. "What's going on?"

Stiles looked up at him. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, but I have to go. It's an emergency."

Derek's gaze fell for a second.

_Honey_.

"Yeah, of course. It was nice meeting you." He turned around slowly, starting to walk into the café.

_Sweetie_.

How could he have been so stupid? He was just about to ask Stiles out for a coffee, using one of his cheesy pick-up lines when Stiles had spoken at the same time as him, and then Stiles was talking into the phone, calling someone _honey_ and _sweetie_ right in fucking front of him. Why would he say that to someone when he'd just made out with Derek? When he was the person that had bloody started the whole fake boyfriend thing in the first place? Perhaps he wasn't talking to a spouse, but rather a child or a family member? Derek grumbled over the frustrating options in his head.

As he reached the entrance to the café a hand took ahold of his wrist and turned him around. Derek barely saw a glimpse of Stiles before he had a handful of Stiles kissing him, pushing him against the wall of the building and, _fuck_, nibbling his bottom lip. His own hands slipped down to Stiles' ass, moving his pelvis so that it was lined up with Derek's and then he slowly rolled his hips, earning a small groan from the man attacking his lips like it was the only thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life. They were both breathing heavily into another's necks when they had to come up for air.

Stiles gave Derek a playful nip on his neck, another quick kiss on his lips and then whispered in his ear roughly, "_Now_ I can go. See you later Mr. Hale."

Derek shivered involuntary.

Stiles gave Derek a final quick kiss on the lips and then he turned around and started walking in the opposite direction of the café. Derek kept watching him as he walked, like he'd turned into a complete teenager within the small hour they'd known each other, and was watching his crush walking past him with an open mouth in the middle of the schoolyard. Which was, well… Derek wasn't going to comment on that one.

He was so absorbed by watching Stiles walk into the snowy market square that he didn't mind the small flakes of snow that landed and melted on his skin, reddening his cheeks. Nor did he notice that Isaac was standing next to him until he almost jumped out of his skin when he heard his voice.

"Dude, who was that?"

Derek clenched his hands over his chest in reflex. "Isaac! Oh my god you scared the _crap_ out of me, don't do that." He punched Isaac's shoulder in childish revenge.

"S'not my fault you're not paying attention to your surroundings, man." Isaac grumbled, touching the hit shoulder in fake hurt. His "KISS THE COOK" apron swayed in the wind, and Derek snorted.

There was another layer of snow slowly descending onto them, and both Isaac and Derek looked around in delight.

"Would you look at that." Isaac's eyebrows rose. "Guess the weather report was wrong after all." He threw a hand over Derek's shoulder, retreating when he got melting snow on it. "Dammit," he moaned, trying to rub it off. "This was my last clean work shirt…" He muttered, but gave in with a sigh. "Who was that anyway? You know, that guy you were making out with for like half an hour outside the café?"

Derek looked at Isaac, shocked. "Wait, you saw us?"

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Dude, everyone in the shop saw you. I even overheard a few bets going on about which one of you would come up for air first." Isaac shook his head at the memory. "You just be glad that Erica wasn't here, or she would be in pregnant interrogation mode right now, and trust me, she wouldn't stop before she got _everything_ out of you." Derek grimaced at that. There was no wrath like a pregnant Erica scorned. He had a few bruises as proof of that. "You two were practically having sex out there with the way you were kissing. I was almost afraid that the cops would come and break you up since there were kids around, but to be honest it looks like they were too interested to disturb." Isaac shuddered. "I didn't even know you had a boyfriend dude." He looked up at Derek. "You could have told me, you know I don't mind that you're into men, hell, _I'm_ even into men."

And now Derek was feeling guilty because Isaac was giving him the puppy eyes and thought Derek had a secret boyfriend he hadn't told his friends about. God dammit.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly." Isaac agreed, eyes narrowing.

"I met him over half an hour ago when he interrupted my lunch and asked me if I was gay, and then he made out with me and got me to act like his boyfriend in front of his ex-boyfriend," Derek blurted out, hands crossed over his chest.

There was a moment of silence.

"Honestly?" Isaac asked, baffled.

"Honestly."

"Well…" Isaac started, mouth a bit open. "That's a new one."

Derek hummed in agreement.

"So you have no idea who he is then?"

"Just that his name is Stiles."

"Stiles, huh?" Isaac smirked. "It _would_ be just like you to choose the cuties with the strange names. Oh well, at least he had a nice arse."

Derek looked in the direction that Stiles had disappeared off to. He couldn't say that he disagreed.

"Ouch!" Isaac exclaimed with a whelp as Derek threw him over his shoulder and held him that way while walking into the café. Derek's bag fell from Isaac's shoulder and onto the ground, but Derek quickly picked it up while balancing Isaac from where he was hanging over his shoulder. "Come on, you little puppy. Let's go inside. Can't have you slacking off on your work now, can we?"

"I will murder you," Isaac threatened weakly into Derek's back.

Derek laughed. "Whatever you say," he grinned, and promptly pinched Isaac's left butt cheek.

Isaac's string of curse words followed them into the restaurant.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Stiles had never been so angry at his Jeep before.

It was old, all right, he'd known that from the very start. After all, it _had_ been his mother's (and probably her parents' before that if the condition it was in was anything to go by). Still, it was _his_ Jeep, despite the window shields on the car not working properly, the rattling that came the air-condition whenever he turned it on (because he'd played with Lego a few times in his mother's car while waiting for her to close up the library, and accidents happened when small children had access to Lego and a huge car with many possible hiding places ok), the engine taking ages to start, and the old radio that could only take in two channels, one which was an indie station and the other one was a modern pop channel. (You can guess which one he chose to listen to. Hint: the channel that _didn't_ play songs sung by a boy that rhymed with Dustin Beaver.)

But, despite all its fault and scratches, it used to belong to his mother, and had been given to him by his father on his 18'th birthday, with the teary message that his mother would have wanted him to have it.

The fact that the car held sentimental value to him was the only reason why he hadn't pushed it off a nearby bridge when it wouldn't start that morning.

Well, that and the fact that then he'd have to walk home to his apartment, or even take the bus. Neither seemed like good options to Stiles at the time because first and foremost: it was snowing outside and cold as hell, and the second reason was that he didn't want to take the bus with a bunch of wet and sniffing people (he knew flu season was on it's way and he wasn't going to let the virus get to him dammit, not this time) and _eww_, wet people.

So no, Stiles didn't push his car off a nearby bridge when it didn't start, but he did put on his best puppy face and started begging the car to work.

"Please baby, work. Just this one time and I'll get you that paint job we've been talking about for months now. I'll even replace your window wipers with new and functional ones just for you. Come on baby, work, please." Stiles cooed to the car, stroking it's dashboard with firm strokes before turning the key in the ignition and crossing his fingers.

After a moment of suspension the car hummed to life, and Stiles kissed the steering wheel quickly in relief. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He backed out of the parking lot quickly and tried not to think about the person he was leaving behind by the café, but failing rapidly.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Derek didn't really know why he was running, feet moving at full speed as he passed the corner of his neighborhood, trying not to slip on the rough and slippery ground. Nor did he know why he had let that man get as close to him as he had. He had told the man – _Stiles_, he reminded himself, his name was Stiles – of things he wouldn't have told his significant other until months into their relationship, at least not within the first half-hour of them meeting. To be honest, he couldn't help himself. There was just something about Stiles, some sort of openness and honesty that not even Derek, with his strongly constructed walls, could resist. And it was aggravating, perplexing and wonderful all at the same time.

Derek was at a loss of what to do.

He wanted – he _wanted_ to have Stiles. To be around him, talk to him, touch him. And the idea of that powerful surge of want he felt towards Stiles frightened Derek more than anything else. It had have been like that with any of his previous relationships, hell, not even with his one night stands.

So Derek painted, for the first time in three years.

The moment he entered his apartment he threw off his outdoor clothing, and practically ran into his atelier, grabbing his painting clothes from the bottom of his closet together with his acrylic painting and put on some good old-fashioned 70's and 80's ballads on the speakers. Derek mixed different colors and nuances of painting onto his palette, and took a deep breath, standing in front of the 30x40 cm big canvas he had placed in the middle of his atelier, supported by the easel he hadn't used in years. He took the biggest and sturdiest brush he could find from his equipment table, using it to mix a dark blue base color, and when he was happy with the nuance of the color he touched the brush to the canvas and _painted_, the memory of Stiles still fresh in his mind, everything else gone.

To say that Stiles was stressed did not even cover it _at all_.

He'd gotten the call whilst in the motion of trying to flirt with his pretend boyfriend, which, of course, was the idyllic phone-cock blocking moment in any rom-com movie he'd ever seen, but he answered the phone anyway.

When he heard the sad tone of Tam's small voice asking him if he could pick her up from day care because she missed papa and mommy, Stiles was in his car and out of the parking-lot as fast as his car would allow (which was apparently not that fast).

Tam's day care was fortunately not far away from where he had parked, so it only took him ten minutes until he was parking outside the building and running inside. In the reception he found Tam sitting on a bench with one of the day care workers kneeling on the floor and drying Tam's cheek with a wipe.

"Tam!" Stiles called out, watching Tam's distraught face light up a notch while she jumped off the bench and ran towards Stiles.

"Uncle Stwiles!" Tam screamed, jumping into his open arms. He hugged his goddaughter to his chest, shushing her quiet sobbing with soothing pats to her head.

"I'm here, baby girl, I'm here." He waited until she had calmed down before he placed her back on the ground, him kneeling before her. There were still tears running down her face, and her nose was a bit red, so he took a tissue from the box placed on the reception desk. The reception woman gave him a sympathizing smile. He dried the tears from her flushed cheeks, making her blow her nose on the tissue before throwing it in a nearby garbage bin. When he dried her face he could see different colors of what looked like painting on her nose, eyebrow and chin. He looked down at the rest of her clothes, and yes, they were also covered in small streaks of dried paint. Anger ran through his body, and he looked up at the day care worker that had been with Tam when he arrived. "What exactly happened here?" He asked the lady, motioning to the dried paint on Tam's clothes and face.

The young girl looked down at Tam. "Little Tamara here poured painting on one of her classmates painting in art-class today, and then suddenly she was having a painting fight with said classmate." She sighed gently, almost tiredly. "The boy was a lot worse off, but I managed to break them up before anything worse happened, like someone getting painting in their _eyes_ or any _equally worse_ places," she said with a pointed look at Tam. Tam sniffed.

Stiles gave the lady a small smile, and thanked her for all her trouble. He would have taken Tam to apologize to the boy she had a fight with, but the (now much happier that they were leaving) lady told him that his parents had already come and picked him up. Tam picked up her things from the hallway with shelves for the children to put their things in, and followed Stiles out the door, holding onto his hand firmly.

He buckled her in the back seat of the car, even though she would much rather sit in the front seat like all the adults did, but Stiles was a strict _but_ cool Uncle (except for once in a while when he let her have ice-cream before dinner and watch cartoons in her pajamas. It was those McCall's and their stupid charm, because she, like her goofy puppy of a father, also had her way with the puppy eyes and sometimes Stiles couldn't help but to cave in for the bundle of happiness that was Tamara Argent McCall).

The drive back to Stiles' place was mostly filled with indie music, and complete silence from the both of them except the occasional "Look Uncle Stwiles, a cloud shaped as a dog!" and Stiles', "Wow, you might be right. But doesn't it look a bit like your papa Scott as well? Those floppy ears and that waggling tale. You know, sometimes your papa reminds me of a hyper puppy. When I first met him I wasn't even sure if he was human or not!".

Tam's laughter had filled the car. "Papa's not a dog!" She shrieked, giggling.

"You sure?" Stiles asked with fake surprise.

She giggled. "Yes!"

He grinned at Tam's enthusiasm. "Okay then."

They reached his apartment in little over fifteen minutes since it was a bit outside the center of Bath. When Tam got out of his Jeep the first thing she did was to pick up a handful of the little snow on the ground and threw it in Stiles face with a shriek of laughter.

Stiles locked the car and started walking towards her playfully. "Oh you little! It's on!" He started running to where she was standing by the entrance of his apartment building, but Tam quickly picked on and ran behind the building, and into the grass covered patches that were meant to be the mutual garden for all the inhabitants in the apartment complex. He ran after her and picked her up easily, throwing her gently over his shoulder while she shrieked with laughter.

"Put me down, Uncle Stwiles! Put me down!"

"No! I've got you now, and I'm never giving you up. Mhahahaha!" he laughed maniacally and ran back to the front entrance and locked them into the building. When they had walked up to his floor and entered his apartment neither Tam or Stiles had stopped laughing. He removed her carefully from over his shoulder, and she immediately began punching him softly on the stomach.

"That was mean," Tam pouted, but he could spot the smile behind it.

Stiles grinned and ruffled her spikey brown hair. "You deserved it, kid." He dropped his keys into a bowl and removed his and Tam's outdoor clothes. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened today," he motioned to her painted jacket, "or are you going to make me tickle it out of you?"

Tam was silent for a moment and seemed to consider her options, so Stiles moved closer to her, hands waggling with a smile. "You asked for it," he howled, and started tickling her in a way that made her cry with laughter. "Stop! Stop it Uncle Stwiles!" she laughed.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Silence.

"All right then." He continued to tickle her until she fell down on the floor with uncontrolled laughter.

"Ok, ok, I'll tell you! I'll tell you!" She gasped out between laughs.

Stiles finally stopped.

Mission accomplished.

Stiles' tickles was something to be feared, even by the brave young Tam, because he could tickle almost anything out of children, or at least he prided himself in that (he'd learned it from years and years of babysitting his cousins and neighbors children).

He stood up, helping his goddaughter up from the floor as well, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Tam to sit beside him.

"Now, what happened? It's not like you to start fights, Tam."

"I know." Her chin wobbled. "ButUncleStw_-iles_, he made fun of my painting, said girls couldn't paint a football because it wasn't _girly_." She sounded almost disgusted at the thought. "So I poured painting on his picture to make him stop talking stupid, but then he took the squishy bottle with painting and squeezed some on me, and I just had to throw some back because he ruined my jacket." Tears were beginning to form in her eyes now, and Stiles lifted her so that she was lying in his lap, head cradled to his chest.

"It's okay honey, we can get you another jacket just like it, all right?" He soothed her.

She sniffed once and looked up at him. "Really?"

"Really," Stiles smiled down at her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, noticing for the second time that she had paint all over her clothes and body. "Let's get this painting off you, shall we? But first you need to promise your Uncle Stiles that you won't do something like that again all right? I know boys at your age can be hard sometimes sweetie, and that this boy was mean to say this to you, but that doesn't mean that you can throw paint on him or ruin his picture." Stiles ran his hands through her short hair. "You need to be better than that ok?"

"Ok Uncle Stwiles, I promise" Then she added," Please don't be mad." Tam sniffled again and hugged Stiles' tighter.

"I'm not mad honey, just thinking that you'll need a proper wash. Want to have a bubble bath in Uncle Stiles' awesome tub? I bought some new toys for you to play with," he teased, watching her eyes light up.

"Oh can we, can we!" She was up from the couch and running to the bathroom in no time.

Stiles followed her inside and poured some water from the showerhead and into his tub, readjusting the warmth of the water while Tam got undressed.

When Scott had asked him if he could babysit Tam for a weekend while Scott and Allison went on a weekend get-away Stiles had immediately said yes. Those two lovebirds needed a well-deserved break after juggling a busy work-life with a six year old child without a proper vacation in years, but Stiles also loved his goddaughter a lot, and thrived at any moment he got to spend with her. Of course, Stiles wasn't _really_ her uncle, but it was a lot easier for her to call him that rather than her parent's best friend or her godparent, so they just went with it (just like Allison, Scott and Stiles stopped correcting her when she called Stiles _Stwiles_ instead of his properly spelled name). This had been the first time Allison and Scott had been away from Tam in a long period for years, so he'd guessed that Tam might be sad and a bit off. Maybe that's why she fought with that boy? Whatever reason she had, Stiles knew that Tam was aware that it was wrong, and would perhaps learn from her mistake. But, in the end she was only a 6 year old girl, on her way to growing up, so Stiles couldn't really expect that much of her. That didn't want to make him not shout at that boy for upsetting Tam, though.

He'd always held Tam close to his heart. Even when Allison found out she was pregnant during her second year in uni while getting a doctor in English History, Stiles had talked and cooed at her growing stomach, cherishing it almost it was his own. Allison had taken over a year off from university to have the baby and take care of it afterwards, while Scott had stayed in uni (the same university as Allison, of course. Like he could handle being apart from her more than three minutes) studying to be a veterinarian.

They had gotten married after Tam's first birthday, which Stiles was there for of course, crying and beaming at his two best friends being so happy and perfect for each other, and holding a smiling baby Tam in his hands. Allison had gone back to school afterwards, finishing her degree with flying colors, while Scott, who had finished his veterinarian degree by that time, took some time off to take care of their darling Tamara. After 5 years they chose to renew their vows, which Stiles was there for as well, but with a plus one this time, his pre-wedding boyfriend but post-wedding not-so-much-boyfriend, Danny. Yeah, that had been a day to remember. Still, Stiles was very much happy. He had his friends, his dad and a beautiful goddaughter. He couldn't ask for more.

Still, there was something at the back of his mind that flashed back at him, a smiling Derek bending down to kiss him with the snow falling around them, but he shook the thought away. He couldn't have that. It wasn't his to have, no matter how much he had taken without permission that morning.

Tam called for him, telling him that she wanted bubbles in her bath, and he obliged the little princess.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

At 13:36 the same day, Derek's phone rang. The loud and intrusive sound made Derek drop his brush on the plastic filled area around the easel in shock. He _had_ been listening to famous ballads from the 70's and 80's, because that was secretly Derek's jam, even though he would deny it like hellfire every time Laura borrowed – or more like stole – his mp3 player and complained about his music taste.

("_You are the voice_, seriously Derek, _seriously_?" "I have _no_ idea what you are talking about and I will deny whatever accusations you have against me until the day I die. You have no proof, witch!" "Oh please, little brother, you're not fooling anybody, let alone your own skin and blood." "How did I end up with a heathen for a sister again? Please remind me." "Witchcraft. Made a deal with a crossroads demon that I would give him my soul in return for him making me your biggest pain in the ass. Now little brother, we really need to do something about that haircut of yours…")

And he didn't. Fool anyone, that is.

So when he heard the phone ring with the chorus of Rick Astley's _Never Gonna Give You Up _he immediately knew it was Laura that was calling him. He'd put that song in there mostly to annoy her, but it did also make him pick up his phone faster (because he couldn't stand that fucking song of course, not because he was afraid of the wrath that was his big sister, no_ of course not_).

"What?" Derek snapped into the phone, picking up the brush from where he had dropped it on the plastic covered floor.

"Don't you _what_ me, little brother. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Derek sighed and took a look at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. "Soon two o'clock. Why?"

"Oh, nothing much, you were just supposed to have a meeting at one with your event planner one hour ago! She's been calling here non-stop demanding to know why you didn't meet up with her as planned. The strange thing is that I don't recall ever giving her my number. I'm actually kind of scared."

Oh shit.

Oh holy buggery shit. He opened his calendar on his phone for the day and there it was:

_13:00, meeting with Miss. Martin to discuss art exhibition. Don't be late!_

Yup, Derek was done.

Screw not simply walking into Mordor, if there was one thing one did **not** simply do, it was get late for a meeting with Miss. Martin.

"Shit!"

"Exactly," Laura agreed.

"She is going to murder me."

"Oh, don't take it so harshly, bro, I'm sure she won't kill you," Laura soothed with fake empathy. "Cut your balls off, yes, that she might do, but murder is a bit well stretched, don't you think? Even for Miss. Martin."

"Don't be so sure about that. The last time I was late for an appointment with her she came to my apartment."

"So? That doesn't seem so terrible."

"I was in the shower, Laura. In the _shower_! And she just barged right in and told me to get ready in 30 seconds or she was coming in there and dragging me out herself."

"Wait, how did she get into your apartment? Please don't tell me you gave her a key, Derek."

"Of course not!" He exclaimed, outraged at the very thought. She was a pain in the ass (but a brilliant event planner, which was why he had hired her in the first place) enough as it was, he could only imagine the horror that would take place if she had a free pass to his apartment. There was a short moment of silence and then he muttered something Laura couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"I said she bribed the doorman to the building," he whispered. "Or she murdered him because the next day good ol' Dave was gone and someone else had "replaced" him. Either way, that woman is scary. Oh god, I'm going to die. Can't you talk to her?" All that could be heard over the phone though, was a small crash and then some very loud laughing. "I can't believe you, are you laughing at me?!"

"You – you, she walked in on you when you were showering oh my _god_ Derek," she wheezed with laughter. "I can't believe you never told me that. I'm going to give her a medal the next time I see her, I don't think I have ever heard you so afraid before."

Derek straightened up his shoulders and huffed. "I'm not afraid…Just taking precautions, that's all. I can't have her murdering me before my art exhibition starts. Besides, I'm sort of busy right now," he told his sister, applying another brush of dark grey to the shadow in the right background of the painting. He paused. "I'm painting again."

He could hear his sister's breath hitch. "Derek," she said softly. "That's – That's really great, Derek."

The truth was, Derek hadn't painted for years. Not since after his little brother had died.

It had happened a late July afternoon, he had been sitting outside on the terrace of his apartment, canvas on his lap, and trying out some new shading techniques with acrylic painting when his phone had ringed. Two minutes later he was in his car, driving 40 over the speed limit to get to the hospital where his family was sitting on the waiting room.

Well, as cruel fate would have it, everyone except one.

Jeremy had only been 9 years old, and he had died crossing the street to get the ball he had kicked in the wrong direction. A hit and run, that's what the police officers had said. No suspects. When Jeremy died, a part of Derek died also. He went through a fit, ripping, cutting and throwing canvases and drawings all over his apartment.

It had been his and Jeremy's thing; painting. Derek was the first one to teach his baby brother how to hold a brush, and how to express himself through art. Jeremy had been great at it, and Derek had thrived in the fact that they shared that same interest. The rest of their family had told Jeremy he'd gotten his artistic side from Derek, and they had giggled and laughed about it. But then he had died, and suddenly the freedom he had gotten by painting didn't seem so free anymore, so he gave it up.

This was the first time he had painted in 3 years.

"Yeah, well, I thought it was time, you know?" Derek weakly explained into the phone. If he heard some short breathing over the phone and sobbing noises that sounded like Laura was crying, he didn't comment on it.

"I met this guy," Derek blurted out suddenly.

"A guy, huh?" Laura commented, sniffing once, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"He's unlike anyone I've ever been with, and he, he gave me inspiration." He laughed freely at the ridiculous situation he had been in. "My hands are tingling, Laura. They're honest to god tingling with the need to paint, to create something."

"So paint! I'll take care of Miss. Martin this time, schedule another appointment. Make sure you don't miss that one." There was a small pause, then Laura said, "I'm proud of you Der."

Derek smiled warmly into the phone. "Thanks." He was about to hang up, but then he remembered, glancing up at the canvas before him, at the two people starting to form. "Oh Laura, there's one more thing I need you to do for me. Tell Miss Martin that I'm changing the main piece for the art exhibition. I'm going with the one I'm painting now instead."

"The art exhibition is in one week, Derek! She's going to freak!"

Derek grimaced. "I know."

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"You were wrong earlier."

"About what?"

"Lydia Martin is definitely going to murder you."

**TBC**

* * *

This story can also be found on my livejournal, or on my AO3 account (links on my profile because ff won't allow us to post links in textposts).


	4. Chapter 4

**Something between You and Me**

Chapter 4

Chapter summary:

He gave them the PG-15 version, worried that quoting intimate Shakespearian lines about Stiles' goddam lips wouldn't fair too well with his friends. That and they would probably mock him for the rest of his life.

* * *

It took Scott about seven minutes of Stiles pacing around in his and Allison's living room for him to notice that something was up with Stiles.

Honestly, Stiles was surprised that it had taken that long.

Scott knew Stiles better than anyone, and had known him ever since he was 7 years old and dared Stiles to jump from the swings in full speed after school one day because Scott wanted to see if people really could fly. Of course, Stiles had complied, and that had resulted in Stiles walking around on crutches for a month, and three very angry parents (one which was a Sheriff who was allowed to carry a gun, mind). Scott's mom had been one of those furious people, and had made innocent puppy face Scott come apologize to Stiles when he was in the hospital. Stiles had gotten permission to flick Scott's ear in revenge, while Scott had drawn Captain America's shield on Stiles' cast, and that was that; a life lasting friendship had been formed. So, when his best friend finally interrupted Stiles' mindless pacing, Stiles stopped and listened.

"Dude, what's gotten into you?" Scott gave him a look. "You have barely said a thing since you dropped off Tam half an hour ago, and if that wasn't unusual enough you won't stop pacing," he said, motioning to where Stiles' leg had started moving at its own accord. Stiles winced and stopped the shaking foot with a hand on his leg. "It's not Tam, is it? You know, if it was any trouble for you to look after her this weekend while we were gone you could have told us and we would have –"

"No!" Stiles interrupted. "No, that isn't it at all! God, you know I love spending time with Tam, she was an angel as always." His fingers went through it hair, ruffling the messy locks. "I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Who has a lot on their mind?" Came Allison's voice from the other room, and Stiles took a moment to just take in the beautiful woman that was one of his closest friends as she strode into the living room, closing the door to the hallway behind her. Allison moved with the same grace and jaw-dropping finesse as she did when Scott pointed her out for the first time, walking down the halls of Beacon Hills High School while he declared her the love of his life with smitten eyes. Her brown hair was curled, and she was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a jumper, but Stiles thought his friend had never looked more beautiful.  
Of course there was also the filthy grin she gave her husband that reminded Stiles that these two love monkeys had been fucking all weekend long while he had been the best of all friends and watched out for their little girl, and noooo, he was not thinking about Scott and Allison having sweaty sex, ew, ew, _ew_! He was going to need to pour bleach into his mind to get that image away.

Allison saw Stiles giving Scott filthy looks, but gave him a small wink and moved to the kitchen to get some drinks out on the table. Oh how Stiles admired that woman.

"We need to be a bit quiet because I just put Tam to bed, but Stiles, do you want beer or wine?" She asked from where she stood in front of the open refrigerator.

"Wine! And one of those fancy big-ass glasses that you have, please." Stiles sat down in their enormous living room couch, which he was marrying by the way. The moment it becomes legal to marry furniture he was marrying that delicious thing and stealing it from Allison and Scott (they could of course come and visit it from time to time but scheduled appointments only), because something that delicious to sit on should be appreciated and loved in a way that only Stiles could manage.

"Stiles, stop making goo-goo eyes at the furniture and come help carry these glasses," Allison scolded from the kitchen, and Stiles gave in with a sigh to go help the lady in need. Scott grinned at him and shook his shoulders, sitting down on the couch with a pleased look on his face. "Don't think that you're not helping, Scott!" Allison sing–songed to her husband.

Scott's childish groan was like delicious victory music to Stiles' ears.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

"So what seems to be troubling you, Stiles?" Allison asked later when they were all spread messily on the couch after a few drinks. Stiles was lying on his back with his head on Scott's lap for some reason, while Allison was snuggled up next to Stiles like a cute little puppy.

"Have you've ever met someone, and just instantly clicked?" Stiles began, petting Allison's hair soothingly. "Like, BAM, you see that person and you just know that you two are supposed to be together?"

Scott gave a dreamy sigh and looked down at Allison. "You know I do." Allison blushed and stared back at Scott, their eyes interlocking for about a minute before Stiles intervened.

"Okay-y, stop with that eyefucking in front of your single little friend called Stiles, or he is breaking up this puppy pile and going straight home and you won't get to know the amazing story of what happened yesterday." This seemed to get their attention.

"_What_ happened yesterday?" Allison asked with a teasing tone. She moved her body beside Stiles' so that she was looking straight at him.

"Whoah, woman, no need to take out the Eyes Of Doom," Stiles said from where he had backed away from Allison's gaze. That woman had a stare that could win over Stiles' own easily, and that was a rare thing. Scott pinched his ear eagerly, and Stiles swatted the hand away. Together Scott and Allison made a unique team, and Stiles knew that he wouldn't be able to win against them in his current state of drunkenness. "I'll tell you." He accepted defeat unhappily.

Allison and Scott's smiles were terrifyingly gleaming.

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

"All right, let me see if I got this straight," Allison started after Stiles had given them the summary of what happened yesterday. "You saw Danny for the first time in months, and that lead you to snogging the shit out of some complete hottie that turned out to be a world famous painter that didn't seem opposed to some voyeuristic making out in the middle of a market square in order to make your ex jealous. _And_ it started snowing for the first time in a century." Allison seemed wordlessly put out. Stiles almost wanted to take a picture. Wait…

"Picture!" Stiles blurted out when it was obvious that his friends didn't completely believe his rare Saturday morning.

"What?" Allison and Scott said in unison.

"I have a picture! Photographical proof that I am not as crazy as you currently thing I am."

He heard Scott mumble a small "You're always crazy, bro," which, hey, _rude_, while Stiles scrambled with hands in his pockets. He fetched his phone out of his left back pocket and pinched Allison's butt in the process (not on purpose of course, nooo). "Sorry!" He wailed when Allison squeeled at the touch.

"Stiles, baby, I love you and all, but get your hand off my butt before I break it." Allison warned in a sweet tone.

Stiles frowned. "But this is my jacking off hand. Even you wouldn't be cruel enough to take that away from a single, sexually frustrated fella." Allison gave him a look that seemed to scream "try me". Stiles didn't want to take that chance. That woman was _fierce_. "I'm taking my hand off," he said and quickly removed it, taking up his phone at the same time.

"Good," she kissed Stiles' temple. "Now, let's see that picture of your teenage wet dream come to life."

"Hey! I never said he was _that_ good looking," but Stiles knew the ridiculous smile on his face told them otherwise.

"You didn't have to, dude. You're practically glowing," Scott commented, and that just made Stiles' smile even bigger.

Scott rolled his eyes at the sight. "All right, gimme that if you're just going to sit there and stare like a fool." He took Stiles' phone from him and entered the password quickly. Stiles didn't even know that Scott knew Stiles password. The only reason why Scott could remember his own password was because it was Allison's name, which Stiles found _very_ unoriginal.

"_Dude_," Stiles complained, but Scott made a few swipes with his fingers on the touch screen, and then gave a small "Huh, not bad," at the phone. When Scott passed the phone to Allison he wished that he wasn't lying down on Scott's lap so that he could see the picture of Mr. Handsome that he hadn't gotten the chance to see before now.

A small, "Nawwww, _Stiles!_" was heard from his left, and he barely had time to take a look at Allison's giddily face before the phone was thrusted into his hand, and a picture of Derek and himself stared up at him from the screen. Derek was standing very close to Stiles with Stiles' hand slung over Derek's shoulder and he wore a very shocked expression, probably blended momentarily by the blitz from the phone. His grey winter coat was covered with small flakes of snow, and his hair was completely wrecked, standing up in all directions like someone had grabbed ahold of it and fucked it up, which Stiles found very satisfactory because _he'd_ caused that. Scrawny Stiles had made supermodel-look-a-like Derek looked like he'd just been thoroughly blissed out, and Stiles liked the thought of that. A lot. Then there was Stiles, who was looking at Derek with flushed cheeks, snow-filled hair and a radiant smile that couldn't be described as anything other than complete and utter affection. He felt his insides curl. Had he really been looking at Derek with a similar expression the entire time? Oh god, he was mortified!

Stiles groaned, hiding his flushed cheeks in the palm of his hands. "Scott, kill me now."

"No way, dude. You're cute when you're flustered," Scott teased, and Stiles moved his hands from his face so that he could give Scott a glare. Scott only smiled, that idiot. "Besides, I haven't seen you this hung up with someone since Lydia, and that's saying something because you spent the better part of your high school life lusting after her, and you only met this dude like a day ago."

Stiles gave another groan in Scott's direction and took the nearest pillow, wondering if he could manage to choke his best friend to death without Allison noticing. Apropos Allison, she was being very quiet. He turned around on the couch, back facing the end of the couch, so that he could see what Allison was doing. She was on his phone, that stealthy little fucker. He hadn't even noticed that she'd taken it from him, too busy arguing with Scott to notice anything else. "Uhm, what are you doing?"

"Browsing," came the simple reply.

Stiles frowned. "Browsing what?"

The following silence told him everything he needed to know.

"Allison! Please don't tell me you did what I think you did."

"Did you know that Derek's full name is Derek Jonathan Bacrowitz Hale? Mr. Hale here attended the prestigious Royal College of Art in London, and graduated with flying colors." Allison waggled her eyebrows at him, and Stiles tried to move himself from where he was sprawled over Scott's lap to take his phone away from her, but Scott's arms held him down. Dammit those two. "It seems like you have a straight A boy in your sight. Not bad kiddo," Allison grinned, and ruffled his hair.

"Hey! First of all, I'll have you know that we're the same age, so no kiddo talk to me sister. And secondly…" He could feel Scotts hand around him relaxing, so he chose that moment to free himself from his friends clammy hands with a push, and then he was descending on Allison like a child on Christmas morning (in this scenario Allison was the presents).

"Stiles!" Allison shrieked, battering away Stiles' tickeling hands with the one she wasn't holding Stiles phone up in the air with. "He also – haha, _stop_ – he also comes from a big family," she managed to cram out between laughter. "Naw, Stiles look, a there's even – _eeek_, stop! _Stileees_ – a baby picture here of your new hubby."

Stiles didn't back down. "Give me my phone back you wicked little thing!" He shouted after her and basically jumped on top of her, trying to grab his hand out of her hands before she could spoil anything else about Derek.

"Scott!" Allison tried, but Scott had retreated to the other couch on the opposite side, far away from them with his own phone in his hand, and _wait_, was he filming them?

"Sorry sweets, I'm Switzerland in this scenario," he said carefully, and Stiles knew the only reason why Scott hadn't joined Stiles in defeating Allison was that she would probably withhold sex if he did, and Scott was a sucker for sex with Allison, always had been. Stiles groaned. Scott was no help.

He continued his tickling.

"_Ahahaaaah_, Stilesssss", laughter, "Derek, he – he", more laughter, "did he tell you that he used to be a stipper?" Allison practically screamed (but with an inside voice because there was a child in the house (or well, child_ren_ if you counted Scott, which Stiles did)).

Stiles stopped everything, and looked down at Allison with his mouth open and eyes wide. "W-what? Really?"

Allison's open face stared back at him from below where he was sitting on top of her. A moment passed, then both Allison and Scott dissolved into hysterical laughter.

"Did you see that expression?" Allison heaved in-between laughs. She was clenching her stomach and tears were starting to fall down her face. Scott was lying face down in the couch, body shaking with laughter. "Stiles you should have seen your face! Please, _please_ tell me you got that on tape sweetie." Scott shook his phone in the air from the other couch and Stiles took that as a yes.

Scott was still laughing.

Stiles hoped he died from laughter.

"You two are jerks." Stiles groaned, and hid himself under the nearest pillow.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

"That's it, we're staging an intervention," were the words Derek was greeted with when he opened his apartment door Tuesday afternoon. Three concerned and mildly pissed off faces stared up at him from the other side of his threshold.

Derek sighed and let them into the apartment. "Good day to you too."

Isaac, Erica and Boyd stepped inside, looking around with narrowed eyes. It's not like they hadn't been inside his apartment before, because they had. Erica looked Derek up and down. "Good Christ, dude, you look completely wrecked." Derek frowned. Okay, perhaps he hadn't stepped outside of his apartment in three days and he may or may not have lived off home delivered Chinese and Italian food for the past couple of days, but Derek didn't think that he looked _that_ bad.

"Yeah man, it looks like you haven't gotten any sleep at all," Boyd complied, taking in Derek's wrecked hair, his pale face that held a few days of stubble, and paint smeared clothes. Wait, paint?

"Is that paint in your hair?" Isaac asked, seeming to have noticed the same thing as Boyd. He walked over to Derek and plucked some dark blue paint from his locks. Derek mindlessly brushed his hand over his hair.

"Uh, yeah." He shrugged, trying to lessen the bigness of what he was doing, even though he knew himself how big step this was for him.

"You're painting again?" Erica asked, eyes widening. Tears were quickly starting to form in her eyes and she brushed them off. "Dammit those pregnant hormones," she cursed with a small laugh. "My emotions are all over the place." She went to sit down in the couch in the living room and scoffed when Boyd tried to help her. "I'm not an invalid, sweets. I can manage sitting down by myself just fine even though I have a child growing inside of this hot body." Ah yes, that was more like the Erica they knew and loved.

"How is the baby?" Derek asked to try to change the subject.

Erica's eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Derek. Changing the subject won't help." She stuffed a pillow behind her back and sat down with a relieved sigh. Boyd joined her and Isaac sat down in a chair next to them. That left Derek sitting in the couch opposite of them. "The baby is just fine, Derek. We had our first ultrasound this Saturday, which I'm told Isaac told you when you stopped by." There was a glint in Erica's eyes that told Derek she knew what else had happened that day.

Boyd opened his wallet and gave Derek a picture of their twenty week old child. "It's a baby girl," Boyd said proudly, and Derek had the feeling that he wasn't the first person Boyd had bragged about this to. He was such a proud puppy.

"Wow," Derek smiled, glancing down at the small photograph. "She's beautiful," he told them.

Erica scoffed. "Of course she is. These genes don't fail," she motioned to Boyd and herself. Derek laughed, and Erica smiled. He tried to give the photograph back to the proud parents, but Erica stopped him. "Keep it. We have plenty." He laid it on the pillow beside him. "Now, what is it that I hear of you and a certain someone named…Stailes? Styles? What's his name again, sweets?" Erica hinted.

Derek groaned, but corrected his friend. "Stiles. His name is Stiles. Or was... Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm probably never going to see him again so you can stop with the preaching I know you have in store for me." Suddenly Derek thought his wooden floor was _very_ interesting. Huh, it had been a few days since he'd cleaned. He should get to that… Once he finishes the painting…And has his art exhibition… And his moping… Yeah, then.

"Actually, I was going to do that part," Isaac winked.

Erica pursed her lips at Derek. "And I had to find out from Isaac of all people, no offence hun," she scolded.

"None taken," Isaac replied, inspecting his nails with a fond smile.

"You couldn't even tell your best friends what had happened, not even your very pregnant and very hormonal lady friend that knows ways to make you wish you never got absolutely buggered drunk that nigh two years ago and told us some _very_ interesting stories." She paused for dramatic effect, that drama queen. "Boyd, sweets, you remember some of them, don't you?"

Boyd grinned at his wife. "Well, there was that story about that snog you had with your very fit History teacher a couple of years back, what was his name again? Mr. O'Conn-"

"Okay, okay! We don't need to go down good ol' memory lane right now," Derek protested, giving in to his friends threats. The pregnant woman sitting on his couch grinned with pleasure.

He gave them the PG-15 version, worried that quoting intimate Shakespearian lines about Stiles' goddam lips wouldn't fair too well with his friends. That and they would probably mock him for the rest of his life. So he gave them the brief summary, enough information that Erica would be pleased, but not enough juicy details to satisfy her morbid curiosity.

They were all silent for a moment when he was done speaking, adjusting to all the new information in their friend's life.

Then they all burst out laughing.

Derek scowled. When it didn't seem like they were about to stop laughing within the next few minutes he stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of newly brewed black coffee from the mug connected to his coffee machine. Once he was back in the living room they had fortunately stopped with the laughing, and Boyd was helping Erica fix her makeup which had apparently been smudged as she'd dried away tears from laughing so badly. Isaac had flushed cheeks and red eyes. Derek was very disappointed in him. Out of all of them he'd thought Isaac would have his back, after all Derek had told him first (of course Isaac kind of saw the entire thing and he'd been forced to explain it to him, but it was the thought that counted!) _Et tu, Isaac, et tu_, he thought.

"You are all very horrible people. I have no idea why I'm friends with you." He deadpanned.

"It's because of my good looks," Erica supplied, one arm around her belly, and the other one on Boyd's knee.

"My charms," Boyd snickered, and gave Derek a wink.

Isaac shrugged at them all, fake serious. "I give good head."

That set them all off again, including Derek this time. Five minutes went before they were able to speak properly again.

Erica rubbed at her eyes, wincing. "I really need to stop wearing mascara if I'm going to start crying all the time." Isaac handed her a tissue from where he was sitting next to her. She took it silently, wiping away the traces of mascara from under her eyes. "Now that you've successfully managed to distract us with the rom-com clishé of a meeting with your new boy-toy," she started. "Which, _really_, Derek? First the kissing with a complete stranger on the street, and _then_ the snowing for the first time in over ten years?" She sounded baffled, which was for Erica a very rare thing.

"My theory is that you've somehow gotten cursed by a witch that has sent you into an alternative universe where you are the plot of a teenage romance novel, because that is the only thing I have to describe all of this." As always, Boyd was a _lot_ of help.

Derek stuck his tongue out at his best friend. Yes, he was that childish.

"But really dude," Isaac began. "He's your muse? He's the reason you're painting again?" His long hands pointed at Derek's painting smeared clothes.

He was about to say something, but then stopped. "Wait, I never told you that. How did you know that, Isaac?"

The blonde gave a Cheshire like smile. "From the moment I saw you two making out in front of the shop I knew you were smitten with him. Even though you'd only known him for a few minutes," he added when Derek was about to protest.

"Well, do you deny it?" Erica butted in. Derek's open mouth closed in a thin line. This was apparently all the confirmation Erica needed, and she winked at him. "Thought so."

"I wasn't done," Isaac pointed out, but Erica only kept smiling at Derek, the kind of smile that made him think that he really should start planning an exit way out of his own apartment, because something was clearly going on. "And also, did you get a look at yourself after Stylies left?"

"Stiles," Derek commented automatically. This of course only made Erica's smile wider. Then he was suddenly remembered how Stiles' nose had wrinkled when a snow flake landed on it, and Derek probably looked like the most stupid man on earth right then, with his cheeky smile. Even Boyd was looking at him with an innocent smile on his face, like he couldn't believe that this day had finally come. Whatever "this day" was. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know.

"That!" Isaac pointed out, his hands gesturing to Derek's face. "That was how you looked the entire time after he'd left. Like you were some kind of love sick puppy." Derek kept staring, smiling. "Guys, I'm afraid we've lost him," he sighed dramatically, and lowered his hands to his sides.

There was a small bright light covering the room, and a _click_ noise. This brought Derek out of his semi-trance. "What are you doing?"

"Did you get it, did you get it? Please tell me you got it," Erica pleaded with Boyd, pulling at his sleeves. Boyd turned his phone around and Erica let out a happy squeal at what she saw there. "This is _so_ going on Facebook. You look so adorable, Derek-boo!"

He frowned." First of all, never call me that ever again, second of all, that," he pointed to the phone, "is _never_ going on Facebook or any other social media."

Now it was Erica's turn to frown. "Okay, then we can talk about the fact that this Stiles person has apparently become your muse, and that you've spent the weekend locked in your apartment," she stopped to sniff the air, grimacing, "which stinks of old air and takeout food, by the way, painting, when your art exhibition is in a few days, and I'm guessing you want this piece in it."

He silently cursed himself for having such smart friends.

"It's supposed to be the main attraction, actually." Now that he thought about, he really hoped that Laura had survived her chat with Miss. Martin where she was supposed to tell her the bad (or good) news (depending on whose side one saw it from. From Miss. Martin's it was most definitely bad news). He made a mental note to call his sister later, just to make sure she isn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere, stabbed with Miss. Martin's long heels.

He opened his phone and took a look at the calendar, seeing how little days he had left until the big opening. "And that means that I have only a few days to get this painting finished, dried up, and framed. That's why I haven't really been that communicative lately," he explained.

"And why your apartment smells like old socks," Boyd added.

"And why my apartment smells like old socks, yes thank you for that image, Boyd."

His friend laughed, and Derek chuckled.

Standing up, Isaac spoke. "I guess we'll leave you too it, then." The others started standing up as well. Derek followed them to the door, where Erica stepped forward and gave Derek a kiss on his cheek.

"Try to get some sleep, will you?" Her fingers traced his growing stubble. "You look like shit, but I'm glad you've found your muse, Derek, that you've started painting again. You may not see it right now, but it's a good look on you, sweets." He hugged her, being careful with her stomach. "Even though you stink like death," she whispered into his ear, and Derek pushed her away playfully.

Boyd gave him a pat on the back, a small "good luck, bro", and then he followed his wife out the door.

Isaac also hugged him. "I'm proud of you, dude." He ruffled his slick hair. God, Derek _really_ needed to shower. "Now, go work on your painting to declare your undying love for your boy-toy. Oh, and answer the phone when we call so that we know you're alive and haven't died of painting poisoning or something."

Derek smacked Isaac hard on his butt on his way out, just because his friend could be a brat sometimes.

The first thing he did when they had all left was to take a long, hot shower. The second thing he did was to fall asleep butt naked on his bed, just remembering to turn on his alarm for the morning before unconsciousness took over.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Of course, on Monday morning, Stiles was late for work.

Which was why Matt started laughing when he saw Stiles practically tripping into the bookstore with two coffees in hand and a shoulder bag hanging on his side, cheeks flushed.

Matt restrained himself from asking why Stiles was late for work, or just why his friend was acting weird a few hours later on when he started stocking books in the wrong order.

He stopped what he was doing, finally having enough. "Okay. Stiles, buddy, what's going on with you today?"

Stiles frowned at him. "What do you mean?" He mindlessly lifted a Jane Eyre book and put it in the science fiction shelf. Matt stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"This is what I mean." He waved the book around. "Since when are Jane Eyre books categorized as science fiction? And you've been jumpy all day. I don't know if you've drunk too much caffeine or what it is."

Stiles shook his head, smiling. "I'm just happy I guess. And yes, I may have drunk your coffee as well as mine, sorry." He smiled sheepishly, suddenly going into dreamland. But Matt recognizes that type of smile.

"Who's the lucky guy?" He asks when Stiles is shelving another book, and the book drops to the floor with a _thunk_.

His friend looks up at him with wide eyes. Matt would probably have found it hilarious if he hadn't been that interested in knowing who Stiles' new affiliation was. Okay, scratch that, he still found it funny. "Wha –What makes you say that, Matt?" Stiles actually stuttered. This was _way_ better than he thought.

He laughed, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. "Dude, you are so whipped. I can see it in your eyes."

Stiles' eyes widened more, if that was even possible.

"See what?"

"L. O. V. E." Matt spelled, pinching Stiles confused cheek before going back to the cash register. So far there hadn't been that many people in their bookstore. Monday mornings were dreadful to the best of them, even the book lovers. Illuminated Pages wasn't a terribly busy bookstore, but it paid their bills and gave them the chance to meet a lot of interesting people. When he and Stiles had first started the store it had only been meant as a starting business of sorts to get them some experience within the market, but they had quickly fallen in love with the entire store and decided to keep it. They had expanded the store though. A small café by the desk had been added, and they've gotten more chairs and tables so that there was the possibility to sit down and have a little bite to eat or drink while people read their bought books or skimmed the many hundreds of books found in the store. They even had a small old-looking chest filled with some books that the customers can sit and read for free in case they don't want to buy a book. Matt realized that it was perhaps an odd kind of book store, but he couldn't imagine it any other way.

Stiles had apparently gotten out of his trance when another customer entered the store, signalized by the chiming of a small bell. He almost tripped on the flat wooden floorboards in order to get over to Matt. "What do you mean by love? You can't just say stuff like that and just walk away. My fragile heart can't take that kind of stress, man."

Matt snorted. "Fragile heart, right." He shook his head, greeting the old woman that entered with a small "Good day. Please tell me if there's anything I can help you find, ma'am".

His arm was held in a tight grip as soon as the old woman had wandered into the stacks of shelves filled with all sorts of books. "Tell me," Stiles pleaded with hopeful eyes.

"Look, man, all I'm saying is that I recognize when someone is completely smitten with someone. There's a certain gaze that they have, and you my friend, have it." He shrugged.

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands over his face in frustration.

"Is it really that obvious?"

"Yes," Matt said at the same time as the old woman, who had apparently been listening in on their conversation, said, "It really is, m'dear. I had the same look when I married my sweet Wilson back in the day, god bless his poor soul." Matt gave the old woman one of his famous smiles, and looked at Stiles as if saying "see, I'm not the only one".

Stiles seemed uncomfortable for a second. "Um, I'm sorry for your loss, madam."

She looked startled. "I beg your pardon? Oh no son, I'm afraid he's not dead yet, unfortunately. One day his time will come, I suppose. Been getting on my nerves for over sixty years, he has, that wicked man." She placed a paperback book on the counter. "I'll have this, please."

Matt grinned at the woman, silently hoping that she would come again. He felt like they would make great friends, they had the same taste in men, after all. Stiles, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest window.

Matt hoped he wouldn't use any of the windows at their bookstore. Proper window glass was so hard to buy these days.

* * *

This story can also be found on my livejournal, or on my AO3 account (links on my profile because ff won't allow us to post links in textposts).


	5. Chapter 5

**Something between You and Me**

Chapter 5

Chapter summary:

Jackson scoffed at Stiles, taking another bite of his muffin like what he had just said didn't half-way put Stiles into cardiac arrest.

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**A/N**: In this chapter I finally get to start earning my explicit rating. But don't worry; this is just a slight preview of what's to come ;) Enjoy people, and thank you all for the very amazing feedback on this silly little story! Among all the fandoms I think I can honestly say that the Teen Wolf fandom is one of the most welcome fandoms there is, and that's a part of the reason why it's such a joy to post new chapters for you guys 3

(Oh, and I wanted to say I'm sorry to someone who asked me on Tumblr last week and asked me when this chapter was going to be posted. I know I told you that it was going to be the weekend previous, but I have been busy or just straight up lazy so I didn't get to post it in time. I apologize!)

Please tell me if you find any grammar errors and I'll fix them up straight away :)

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Normally when the small bell at the entrance door of Illuminated Pages clanged to signalize that a customer was entering, Stiles would drop everything he had to welcome whoever had entered to his store. He had always found that customers liked a proper welcome, so that they knew he was there in case they needed any help finding something, but not so that they felt like he was too clingy. Approachable, but kind. At least, that was what he had learned from personal experience. He had on several occasions met shop workers that more or less followed him around the store to ask him if he needed anything every 1.5 minutes. He had just wanted to slap them in the head with a heavy law book whenever that happened, hoping to beat some common decency into them.

Of course, Stiles being Stiles, would never hurt anyone intentionally, not really. Except spiders (and that clown from his 6'th birthday party. God, whoever thought it was a good idea to bring a tall ginger guy with an exceeding amount of make up on his face that made him look like a Joker wannabe to any birthday party, whoever thought of that could slowly go step on some small Legos thank you very much. Stiles had nightmares of that night all the way up to his 9'th birthday). Therefore Stiles had learned how to act around his costumers so that they didn't feel the need to slap him over the head with a heavy law book to beat some common decency into him (lucky for his head because it was a known fact that all of the Stilinski's had very fragile scalps). But, when the loud chiming sound clang through the air Wednesday afternoon Stiles was inside the shop's storage room, or as Stiles liked to call it, "the cave", with his upper body bent over piles of books as he tried to get ahold of a book stabled in the furthest corner of the room.

"Matt!" he called, making sure his friend welcomed their customers. From the corner of his eye he could see Matt poking his head through the halfway open door of the cave, snorting at Stiles' ridiculous position where he was trying not to knock over the stable of books in front of him while he reached for the book in the corner.

"I got it," Matt confirmed happily, walking back to the front of the store where the till was. Matt was the best, Stiles concluded.

He continued his ministrations, bending carefully ninja style over the pile of cliché covered romance novels to reach over to get that darn book a nice young girl had asked for, but that they unfortunately didn't have on the shelves. Stiles should know better than to go into the cave to get it for her. Matt was the one in charge of the cave and he had his own system for it, which apparently included piling books up all over the room so that it looked like the freaking cover art of the Maze Runner, not a shelving room in a small bookstore.

He was a thumb's width away from the spine of the book, the red cover of the book mocking him with its bright color, when a sharp "Stiles!" came from his left.

He jumped slightly up in the air at the sudden voice, lost his footing on the wooden floor and fell over the pile of books he had spent the past five minutes trying to avoid bumping into. Almost as a pile of dominos lined up and ready to go, the first pile of books fell on top of the second, creating a line of books that fell down from their tables so that when it finished, two thirds of the part of the cave he was in was scattered over the floor.

A heavy book – probably a dictionary – fell on top of his stomach where he was laying on the floor covered with books, and he wheezed out a sharp breath. "I got it!" He exclaimed with a groan, holding up the red covered book over his head. "Victory!" Stiles whimpered at the stinging of a sharp edge of a book against his side and turned his head to see who was to blame for making him ruin Matt's entire system. Oh god, Matt was going to be _pissed_. His shelving system in the cave was practically his baby.

The frowning face of Lydia Martin was the first thing he saw staring down at him.

"Mercy," he uttered weakly as she grabbed ahold of his arm and pulled him up from the mess of books. When he was in a vertical position again with all of his limbs intact (yes he checked), he saw that Jackson Whittemore, Lydia's fiancé and boyfriend of, well, basically always, was standing by the door to the cave, laughing at the screen of his phone because he probably took pictures of Stiles' fall into doom. Pictures that was most likely going to be used against him in the near or distant future in a humiliating way. Stiles cursed himself and made a mental note to steal Jackson's phone and delete those pictures.

Behind the over confident man stood Matt, who looked over the mess Stiles had caused with furious eyes. Stiles even saw one of Matt's eyebrows twitch, and that meant business. He acted quickly (and impulsively, which was the Stiles Stilinski way), grabbed ahold of Lydia's manicured hand and dragged her through the open area in the door where Matt no longer stood, having stepped into the room to get a closer look at the damage.

Jackson gave a small "Ey!" but followed suit, leaving Matt inside the cave alone.

When they reached the center of the store Stiles gave the book he was holding to the girl that sat waiting in the reading area and told her that it was probably wise to wait a few minutes before buying it because the co-owner of the store woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and might be in a bit of a mood. He shouted a small "I'm going on a break," and he heard a string of muffed curses come from the cave before he ushered Jackson and Lydia out of the store with his jacket in hand before Matt could come after him.

Mission accomplished.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Their chosen hiding place was the bakery across the street from Illuminated Pages, which ok, it was not perhaps the best hiding place, but Stiles was in the mood for some treats while he was on his break, and nothing appealed to his stomach like some freshly baked goods by the lovely Mrs. Hendricks herself, the lady who owned the bakery Stiles, Lydia and Jackson were currently sitting in.

"I love you," Stiles moaned in unison with his stomach's rumbling as Mrs. Hendricks gave him his orders. His deliciously smelling and mouthwatering orders.

"Oh Mr. Stilinski, how you flatter me," Mrs. Hendricks commented from behind the disk. She mockingly bent over and gave Stiles a small perfumed kiss at the cheek. "I'll have you know I'm a married woman." Stiles knew. That didn't mean he was going to stop with the teasing anytime soon. Besides, Mrs. Hendricks was about the same age as his mother would have been if she was still alive, and she was like a distant relative that always gave him sweets and a pinch on the cheek every time she saw him. That and Stiles was gay, of course, so their sweet talking was nothing but old friends teasing each other.

"Yes, and your husband is right here, you know!" A voice called from the back room of the bakery, where Mr. Hendricks was baking. "Stop flirting with the costumers!"

Mrs. Hendricks scoffed, even though her husband was in the other room and couldn't see it. "Oh hush you, I'm just having a chat with a friendly fella. Don't you go putting on your Husband voice now after all these years," she called back to her husband. There was a string of muttered words coming from his direction, but she ignored them with a small smile and turned back around to Stiles again. "Don't you mind him, son. He's just a little bit cranky because he didn't get any this mornin'," Mrs. Hendricks whispered to Stiles over the counter and winked at him teasingly. She looked around in the room. "Now, you better get going, those friends of yours are looking a bit like they stepped out of the wrong side of the bed this mornin'." Mrs. Hendricks squeezed Stiles' hand and went back to serving the rest of her costumers that, like Stiles, had a sweet tooth for Mrs. and Mr. Hendricks' baking.

Stiles carried the tray back to his table, where two slightly annoyed faces were looking up at him. He immediately sat down. After a couple of seconds with complete silence from his friends he lifted a paper bag in their direction. "Croissant, anyone?" he asked as casual as he could muster.

After all Stiles didn't know why he had been brought here (or, well, he had brought them there, but potato, patato), and could think of no reason why his friends were looking at him suspiciously like that. Perhaps this was about that time he scratched up Jackson's Porsche a couple of months back with his keys, on accident of course.

The scratching had nothing to do with the fact that Jackson was acting like a complete douche that particular day (if not always), and Stiles just happened to see Jackson's car parked outside of his house and a bicycle key itching to be used. Nope, nothing like that at all. Besides, Jackson couldn't have known it was Stiles. He had no proof. So that was what he told him.

"You have no proof!" he blurted out, holding his paper bag of croissants protectively against his chest as if Jackson would separate him from Stiles' delicious sustenance of baked goods.

Jackson looked surprised at him, raising a single neatly shaped brow as if that action alone would give him the answer to the mystery that was Stiles Stilinski. "Proof of what? What the hell are you talking about Stilinski?"

This time it was Stiles' turn to raise a surprised brow. "About your Porsche," he started, "and its connection with what might or might not be the key to my bicycle?" At the end the sentence sounded less like a statement and more like a question.

Jackson straightened in his chair, both eyebrows furrowing with a newly formed anger. "My Porsche? What the hell have you done to my baby?!"

Lydia, who had been inspecting her nails up to this point, rolled her eyes and placed a hand on Jackson's bicep. "Calm down sweetie, nothing is wrong with your Porsche, he's just being the usual Stiles." Jackson seemed to calm down at her words, and Lydia gave Stiles a small wink once Jackson was looking in another direction.

Stiles breathed out steadily now that the terror of Jackson Whittemore was over. Not that he would not have been able to take Jackson on in a fight, he totally could. Or so Stiles convinced himself of on a weekly basis.

"Now that we have some testosterone let out, how about we talk about what we're really here for, huh?"

Jackson stood up from his chair and Lydia gave him a sturdy look. "What? I'm not sitting here chatting with you girls when there's deliciously smelling baked goods a few feet away." He muttered something about "muffins" and "need something to eat if I'm going to keep up with those two" as he walked to the queue in front of the cashier, but Stiles paid him no mind.

"So," Stiles began, "what brings the wondrous Lydia Martin - soon to be Lydia Martin Whittemore - to these parts of town?" He took a bite of his croissant, nearly moaning at the delicious taste of French bakery at its finest.

Lydia sat back in her chair, long slim legs crossing over each other and a white and red floral dress covering up her thigh and higher. She had a grey suit jacket on that gave Stiles the impression that she had just come from work. Then he remembered that is was a Tuesday, so of course she had been at work. He was actually surprised to see Lydia there. Ever since she graduated from Cambridge (with honors, of course), she had started in the event planner business. She even had her own company, and boy was she a force to be reckoned with. Lydia was one of the best in her occupation in their part of the country, and a much sought out woman. She had always been very secretive and private about her clients, which Stiles had been told varied from supermodels to Tom Hiddleston (not that it was very reliable information because his source was Scott, and Stiles had stopped trusting every blank think Scott said to him ever since he was twelve and Scott told him that Santa Claus didn't exist. Which Stiles found out was a lie after he received presents signed "From Santa Claus" each Christmas after that. As a matter of fact, he still did, which he found a bit weird, but never really gave it much thought because _presents_). Because she was very busy with her job he had rarely seen her while she was working, except for the occasional lunch break now and then. It just made him more wary of why she was meeting with him that Tuesday midday.

She looks at Stiles with a sweet smile. "I talked to Allison yesterday after work." Stiles immediately stilled and gave out a small groan, sinking down in his chair.

"Whatever she told you, it is lies! All of it, _lies_!"

Lydia tisked at him. "Is it really? Because I heard from my best friend that you have had a very interesting weekend indeed." She grabbed a nail file from her purse and started gracefully to file her middle nail. "She told me that you had a little run in with a certain someone rhyming with Merek Dale. Any of that sounding familiar?" She was giving him a stare now, and Stiles willed himself not to cower. He was a grown man dammit, Lydia didn't scare him anymore. Again, that was what he told himself. His friend could be terrifying on a good day. "But I thought to myself; no, that can't be the same Stiles' we're talking about. The Stiles' I'm friends with would never keep anything like that from his best gal. Especially not one who has enough blackmail material on him to scar him for life."

She filed her middle finger with preciseness, and it really looked like she was giving him the finger. Which Stiles was about 100% sure that she was in fact doing.

He took another bite of his croissant, hoping that it would anchor him enough to last out the conversation. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Lydia asks.

Stiles shrugged, playing it cool. "It's my life. If I had wanted you to know straight away I would have told you."

From behind them a small "oh burrrrrrn" could be heard and Stiles knew it was Jackson who was apparently listening in on their conversation. Lydia flipped the bird at her fiancé.

"Besides," Stiles continued, "you've been so busy with work lately and I know this particular client you're working on, whose name you insist on keeping a secret like always, has been stressful, so I didn't want to distract you from your work." Lydia's eyes softened and she leaned back in her chair.

"This pretty little head has an IQ of 170, I think I can handle one of my closest friends gossiping a bit about a very famous artist he practically had _public sex_ with."

Stiles winced. "It was more like dry humping than anything," he said, remembering how well Derek's body had fit against his, but Lydia ignored him.

"But, as a matter of fact I'm not here to guilt trip you." She straightened out her dress with her fingers (not that it was needed, she looked as perfect as always) and moved her chair closer to the edge of the table, leaning over it to speak more personally with Stiles who was on the opposite side. "As a matter of fact, I bring glad tidings," she teased with a well preformed British accent. Stiles gave out a little laugh. It had been his and Lydia's thing to sometime speak to each other like they were living in the middle of a Jane Austen novel, and no matter how many people looked at them strangely (yes, Jackson was one of those people), they continued doing it. They also had a strict rule that every Halloween they would dress up in different historical clothing and go around acting out silly scenes.

"Well then ma'am, do continue."

She moved closer to him so that they were only inches apart. To others who walked by it might have looked like they were having an intimate moment, but to them it was simply their way of talking without anyone else nosing around in what they were saying.

"You know that client I've mentioned to you? The man with the art exhibition?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, how could I forget the unidentified man you've been working with for weeks and sending me annoying text messages about." He gives her a pointed look. "Thanks for sending those messages at three am by the way. I didn't get any sleep after that _and I had work that morning._"

Lydia waved the matter away. "Never mind that, what I'm about to tell you is much more important than your lack of sleep for one night."

"Hey!" Stiles commented. "Rude."

A tray was put down on their table and Jackson sat down, stuffing his mouth full of a chocolate chip muffin. "Has she told you yet? The big plot twist?" he said with a full mouth, barely getting the words out.

Wait, what? "What on earth are you talking about?" Stiles narrowed his eyes and again wondered what his friends were trying to tell him.

Jackson rolled his eyes and swallowed the food. "Lydia's client and your new boy-toy, how they're the same person? My god Stilinski, haven't you've been paying attention?" Jackson scoffed at him, taking another bite of his muffin like what he had just said didn't half-way put Stiles into cardiac arrest.

Lydia punched Jackson's arm annoyingly. "I hadn't gotten that far, idiot. Now you completely ruined my moment. I had a speech prepared and everything." She pouted. Jackson apologized to her and promised to make it up to her while Stiles was just sitting there, making no heads and tails of their conversation.

"W-what? You know Derek?" Stiles stuttered, trying to calm his beating heart.

Lydia nodded, smiling sheepishly. "He's my client."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME DEREK HALE WAS YOUR CLIENT?!" Stiles shouted at her, hands twitching in the air in motions he didn't know he could make.

The entire bakery grew silent at his outrage. In the corner of his eye he saw Mrs. Hendricks staring daggers into Lydia and Jackson's heads as if she was a few seconds away from grabbing the nearest rolling pin and smacking their heads with it for upsetting him. Stiles found that strangely comforting.

"Well, I didn't know you knew Derek before yesterday night, did I? I came as fast as I could, Stiles." Stiles found himself calming down from his outburst at her words. Around them the chatting returned to its previous level of noise.

"Okay, so why are you telling me?" He asked, remembering her strict no-tell rules about her clients.

"I'm telling you because I've spent weeks arranging Derek's art exhibition to perfection, and because I have a plus one seat to the first exhibition he's had since he was a teenager that I need to have filled." She gave Stiles one of her textbook grins. "And I think I've just found my date."

**xxxxxxxxxx**

It was Wednesday morning when Laura knocked on Derek's door and he received a smack at the back of his head when his sister saw him standing in his boxers, yawning at her appearance at the door. "This is the second time this month!" Laura shouted at him. "If you weren't my little brother and I hadn't been raised by our parents not to hit younger people I would have punched you by now."

Laura was of course talking about their scheduled breakfast that he had again forgotten about. Apparently, by Laura's calculations, for the second time this month.

Derek rubs the spot she smacked him on. "That wasn't hitting me?"

She scoffed. "Oh please, stop being so dramatic." She walked into his bedroom, talking at the same time. "I know you've been stressed with the gallery exhibition, meeting your one true muse – and _yes_, Erica told me," she said before Derek could get a word out. Erica, that traitor! He said so out loud.

Laura gave Derek a stare. "Well, she wouldn't have to betray you by going behind your back to talk to me if you had just picked up the phone and told me it yourself, would she?" She pulled back his bedroom curtains and Derek hissed at the sharp light. He had, after all, only woken up two minutes previous and was not at his top shape with his bed hair, wrinkled black boxers and sore eyes. He probably even had morning-breath.

"Now, you're going to get dressed and you're coming with me back to our parents' house. They want to see you, and Mom's making pancakes, your favorite." She winked at him. "And take a quick shower while you're at it, will you. You stink." Derek covered her sly smile by throwing one of his dirty pants at her, and her annoyed screams of his name followed him all the way into his bathroom.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Derek was greeted at his childhood home by two ecstatic five year olds that jumped up on him and held on like he was their favorite monkey bar. Uncle Peter's and Aunt Sindy's twins, Melanie and Kelly, were apparently also fans of Derek's mother's pancakes. Derek laughed at their happy shrieking (apparently it had been a surprise that Derek was coming for family breakfast that morning) and placed both of them on his shoulder, one child on each, as he entered the house. The air smelled like cooked bacon, bacon and orange juice, and as he moved further into the house and into the living room, Laura behind him, he could see just why. Someone had laid the table with enough food for a dozen people and around it sat Derek's family, happily chatting away. Derek took a deep breath, muscles immediately relaxing at the feeling of home.

"Look what I found," Derek announced happily and put the twins down on the floor. The same twins who were still impossibly beaming with joy at seeing Derek. The very sight made Derek's heart soar. They ran into their parents arms, Uncle Peter putting Melanie up on his lap while Aunt Sindy did the same with Kelly.

His mom, Talia walked up to him and gave him a hug and a kiss on his cheek. "Derek, sweetheart, I'm so glad you came!" She put her hand around his shoulders and led him to his reserved spot at the dining table. "I've made you your favorite, pancakes." She winked at him and sat down next to Derek's father, Joshua, who gave him a small nod and a warming smile.

He greeted the rest of his family. His older brother Michael who was currently stuffing his mouth full of pancakes gave him a fond pat on the back. Damon, the youngest Hale brother barely even looked up at him, too engrossed in his current reading material to even notice his second oldest brother and oldest sister joining them. It wasn't until Cora, the youngest child in the family, stepped on Damon's foot under the table that he noticed the two familiar faces. Then he gave them both a big grin and put his book away guiltily. Cora on the other hand walked around the table to hug Derek properly before sitting down again. When he had greeted them all he placed a handful of pancakes on his plate and began to stuff his rumbling stomach until he was practically ready to collapse down at the nearest horizontal surface to sleep off his mother's delicious food.

"I'm very excited for Saturday, Derek," Derek's father, Joshua said. "I trust you have everything in order for the big event?"

Derek saw Laura look at him expectantly over the table. "All of the preparations are done, but I'm still working on my main piece. It happened very quickly actually, I only started at it this Saturday."

"Didn't you already have a main piece for the exhibition? I thought you mentioned something to me about an old painting of yours you were going to use?" Cora asked.

"I did, originally, but I got some newfound inspiration and I want the piece I'm making now as the main attraction instead." His eyes traveled the room, suddenly uncertain. "Actually, what I'm working on now is a painting as well."

There was a moment of silence where they all seemed to take in what he had just said.

"You're painting again?" Asked Aunt Sindy, her voice slightly hoarse.

He nodded in confirmation.

"Oh Derek," his mother said weakly from across the table, "I am so proud of you, my son." She used her hand to wipe away a tear from her eye. "I think - no _I know_ that Jeremy would have been proud of you as well." She looked at the creamy light that stood on the table, the one they always lit in memory of Jeremy every dinner they had together. There were small murmurs of confirmation around the table, but no one spoke for a little while.

"Did you know that Derek has found his muse?" Laura asked her family, breaking the sad tension that had filled the room. Derek cursed his sister name silently and sunk down in his chair a bit, groaning.

"That's why he's painting again. He has an arner for his muse." Laura smirked smugly.

"An arner?" Damon asked with an amused smile on his face.

"Art boner," Laura said, and at the edge of the table Derek's dad spit out the coffee he was drinking all over his empty plate. Both Uncle Peter and Aunt Sindy held their hands over their children's ears as if to protect their children's virtue, but by then it was too late, the five year olds had already heard the word and was saying it over and over again.

"Arner, arner, arner, arner, arner…" they said between laughs. Derek thought if they had known the context of which it was originally spoken of they would probably stop singing the words over and over again over family breakfast. But unfortunately (or fortunately, because it would probably have scarred the sweet girls for life) they did not.

"Laura." Derek groaned her name like it was a curse.

"Well," his mother began, "I'm sure whomever your muse is, that he's a nice man, and worthy of your affections."

Derek wanted to strangle himself. Did his mother just say "muse" and "worthy of your affections" in one sentence? Derek was going to murder his big sister. First murder her and hide the body, then get another identity and move to Switzerland or something. Far, far away. Where no one could tease him about his crushes, and that they may or may not be the reason he is painting again.

Fuck his life.

There was some laughter in the northern region of the table, and Derek looked up to see Michael clenching his heart while laughing. "Der, you sure know how to set the mood," Michael wheezed.

Derek grumbled out a small string of muffed words. "Stupid Laura's fault."

There was yet another small moment of silence, and then Cora said, "So, guess what I got on my Geology exam?" and the silence was over. Derek blessed the universe that he was related to sweet Cora, who could not subtly change the subject even if her life depended upon it, but who at least helped Derek out. Not unlike certain other family members that were laughing at his expense (not that he was going to mention any names of course. (*cough* Laura and Michael.))

He reminded himself to give Cora a special Christmas gift this year for being such an awesome sister.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, or as smooth as a dinner with the Hales can get, and he made it out with all limbs intact and promises that his whole family would be there for Derek's gallery exhibition that coming Saturday.

Derek was ecstatic as he entered his apartment, threw his keys in the bowl at the table by the door, and placed his winter jacket on a coat hanger. Breakfast hadn't been that bad, not really. He'd had worse (and that was saying something). He loved his family, he really did, and he was used to their teasing ways. Still, he didn't like to speak to them about his "muse". He shook it head at the word, because it didn't justify what Stiles was to him. Had been to him?

He didn't know.

What he did know was that they'd had their moment together. Probably that kind of moment you tell your future children or friends about when they ask what the most unexpected thing that has ever happened to you was. Then he would tell them about that stranger that walked up to him and kissed him on the street, how it had started snowing when their lips touched, and how that encounter had opened him up to a lot of things, and had made him strangely happy.

Still, though, imagining himself adopting children with some man he currently didn't know and telling them about his encounter with Stiles didn't seem right to Derek. Some part of him, deep down, wanted Stiles to be that person he reminisced their first meeting with, and how it had led to the life they later would have together.

He knew it was silly, of course.

Silly and just a simple daydream because he couldn't have Stiles. Stiles and himself were two different leagues. Stiles was sociable, funny, silly and loving, and while Derek might be attractive, he was still scarred by the actions of a woman he had thought he loved years ago.

Besides, he should start getting over the small crush he had on the stranger he'd only known for the lesser part of a half-hour. He was never going to see him again, and he should get over it. Take a few days to brood over the lost dream, and then get back to his regularly scheduled life.

Derek told himself this as he walked into his bedroom, ridding himself of his clothing to take a little nap in an attempt to sleep away the growing headache he had left over from breakfast that morning. As he laid down he could see his cock already at half-mast from all the talking and thinking about Stiles, and he knew that it's wrong to jack off to a stranger he barely knew, but as his right hand closed around his shaft, he really couldn't make himself care.

He gave it a few light touches, trying to coax his cock to full hardness. Unfortunately his hand didn't give him enough slickness, so he searched through his bedside drawer for the tube of lube he always kept there, popped the cap and squeezed some of it into his hand. He considered warming it up on beforehand but decided against it and rubbed it out on his cock, hissing at the cold touch.

The room filled with Derek's quiet hitches of breaths and moans as he tightened his grip on his cock, moved his hand faster as he laid his head back on his pillow, hips automatically moving upwards against his tight hand. He released a small moan as his thumb dragged over the head of his cock, and he imagined that it was Stiles' hand on him, moving above him in slick motions that made Derek want to crane back his head and let Stiles _take_. He was sure that Stiles would take his time, tease him until he knew every way to make Derek scream out with pleasure. And Derek would let him. With much enthusiasm.

His left hand was circling his puckered hole now, slightly pressing in with a dry finger as his other hand tightened on the upstroke, making Derek keen and his hips stutter into his warm slick hand automatically. He could practically see Stiles in front of him, Stiles on his knees sucking him off, Stiles inside Derek, fucking his body open one firm thrust at a time. He imagined pinning him down with his strength and taking him against a wall or a bed – their bed. Derek wanted it all.

Derek slicked up his dry fingers with his mouth, licked on them and imagined that Stiles' cock was in his mouth, hard and flushed member begging to be sucked down to the core until finally Derek let Stiles come in his mouth, or perhaps all over his face. The licking continued until he was sure that his fingers were slick enough to breach him, and he pressed inside, one finger at a time, hissing at the sensation of being stretched. By now his cock was fully erect and flushed at the tip where beads of pre-come were starting to collect, his hand moving twitchily over his sensitive cock in the need to come.

Quickly one finger turned into two, and by the time he was scissoring himself open with three fingers he was a whimpering mess of sweat and pre-come. His fingers moved in a "come hither" motion, searching until he finally found what he was looking for, hips clamping down at his fingers up his ass, moaning at the amazing sensation that put his body into overload.

Four touches over the same spot and half a dozen pulls on his cock later he came screaming Stiles' name out in the empty bedroom.

After a much needed nap and a trip to the bedroom to clean up his drying come, Derek stood naked with only a painting apron around his front body inside his atelier with a familiar brush in one hand and a well-used palette in the other. He thought of Stiles as he painted, letting himself put out all that he felt when the stranger had been around him on the canvas.

Derek was over halfway finished, and could see his work starting to look more and more alike the finished picture he had of it in his mind. The background was almost finished, a dark blue forest sky illuminated by a sharp full moon, and a small river running through the open area at the edge of the forest where he had begun painting the shape of a body kneeling by the water. He was still thinking on a name for it, tasting several ones out on his tongue, but no one seemed quite right. Derek was sure it would come eventually, and when it did it would be just right. Perfect, even.

When he was done with it he would put it as his main piece at his exhibition, a last pathetic attempt to somehow show his feelings for the stranger to the rest of the public, then it would – hopefully – be sold and he could stop being fixated on the attractive man with the strange name. Though, as he glanced up at the painting from where he had stepped away from it to mix colors on his palette, he knew it would be a harsh goodbye to make.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Stiles would consider Scott a patient man. He had always been there through all of Stiles' long rants when he was a teenager and had taken a bit too much Adderall, or if he had simply gotten a bit more sugar in his system than strictly necessary. Scott might have dosed off in some cases, or halfway paid attention while sexting Allison over the phone, but it's the thought that counts in this case. So, Stiles thought that Scott was relatively patient with him, and that Stiles was fairly patient back at his friend.

Apparently, that patientness was something that had limits, which Stiles found out as he called Scott for the seventh time that Wednesday afternoon.

"What?" Scott asked weakly.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. Like seriously, you would tell me if you think it's stupid, right? Well, of course you would, you're my best friend. And you would never say that I'm stupid straight to my face. Except that one time when you were drunk and told me that I had a stupid face and my socks smelled. But I'm just so worried. Or exited. I can't really tell which one. I guess a bit of both? Because I'm going to see him again, and I never thought I would. I thought it was just a one-time deal. And what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he just thinks of me like the crazy guy who came up to him and kissed him against his will publicly. Oh god," Stiles groaned, "what if he calls the Police on me and I get arrested and end up in jail. I can't end up in jail, Scott. I'm not jail material. Jail will change me. And I can't do jail showers either because what if I lose my soap and have to bend down to grab it. Everyone knows what happens when you bend down to grab soap in the showers in jail. _Everyone_, Scott."

"Oh for gods sake, Stiles, you won't end up in jail! And you won't get arrested for public indecency either! Now, go to the kitchen and throw a glass of cold water at your face until you've calmed down about seventy percent, then sit down before you have a panic attack." Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott's stern tone, but did what he said anyway.

Stiles whimpered over the phone, but the sound of a large splash of water and then some hissing from Stiles' side told Scott that he'd done what Scott had told him to do.

"I don't want to be butt raped in jail because I picked up a piece of soap in the showers, Scott," Stiles said weekly while sitting down on his couch with a wet t-shirt. He decided that he'd leave it on. The cold and wet fabric against his skin helped him think better.

His best friend sighed over the phone. "You won't. You'll meet this guy you're so smitten with and you'll be your usual charming self and have him drooling at your feet in no time."

Stiles frowned. "I don't want him drooling all over my feet. I'd like him to do other things to my feet, though. Like massage them, kiss them or lube them up and try to make him come just by my feet touching him." He gave Scott a loopy grin, even though his best friend couldn't see him. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Whoah, that sentence turned sickening cute to just sickening in about .03 seconds."

"I've always wondered how it felt like to get someone off with just my feet. I've been told I have great feet, you know."

"Aaaaand, I'm hanging up on you now."

"I think I have a kink, Scott." Stiles said mostly just to tease his friend, but also because that scenario would be insanely hot. And it was true, he really did have a kink.

"Goodbye."

That night Stiles teased himself open slowly and used his favorite vibrator to fuck himself on. The entire time he thought of how good it would have been to have Derek's body up against him, Derek inside him, fucking him like it was his purpose in life, and Derek coming all over Stiles' body, marking him up. And if any of his neighbors heard him scream out Derek's name when he came after several hours of teasing himself wet and flushed, well, that was none of their goddamn business.

* * *

Did anyone catch the movie reference? :)

(*shamelessly tells you guys that tomorrow is my birthday, so wish me a good one? :D) Have a lovely day people!

This story can also be found on my AO3 account (links on my profile because ff won't allow us to post links in textposts).


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